


Songs on the Straight Road

by SusanaR



Series: Desperate Hours Alternative Universe G version (DH AU G) [44]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Action/Adventure, Brotherhood, Cousins, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, Romance, Sailing To Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:08:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: Gimli and Legolas and their companions are on their way to the Undying Lands in the West. Along the way, songs are sung, and stories are shared.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This story is set in about Fourth Age 120 or 121. In my AU, Mithiriel is one of Faramir and Eowyn’s daughters, and Theli (Ecthelion) is a friend and cousin of Legolas and Elrond, the grandson of Elurin of Doriath, Elrond’s uncle.
> 
> This story is more-or-less a direct sequel to “Rumor Has It” and “From the Gray Havens,” which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/6456049
> 
> Quote:
> 
> “Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.” - Leigh Hunt.

Something about the ocean leads a dwarf to think about his past without worrying over his future. Or at least so found Gimli, son of Gloin, when he took the straight road o'er the western sea with his friend and heart-brother the elven archer Legolas. They had only been at sea for what he estimated to be about a week, but they were already further west than any dwarf had ever traveled before. They were further, too, than any mortal woman had ever been before. When the mornings were calm and clear, Legolas would go with Theli to lay out fishing lines. Gimli would stand by Mithiriel's side at the prow of the ship, each of them thinking their separate thoughts as the wind blew sea spray and cool air into their faces. 

Gimli wondered at times how he'd found himself so far away from everything he'd ever known. There were leagues of water between him and his beloved caverns beneath the deep. And yet, the echoing effect of the sea was such that Gimli felt he could hear still hear the song of the caverns. 

Men and elves may not know it, but the Earth is never asleep. Way beneath Mountain Great and Cavern Deep, the stones sing and the crevices ring. Dwarflings are born in to the joyous, subtle song. Gimli remembered the first time he'd become consciously aware that the stones sang to him. He'd begun humming the music. Then his cousin Fili had taken him by the hand, and held his other hand to the stone. There, with Fili's palm gently holding toddler-Gimli's chubby little hand against the stones of their home in Eryn Luin, was the moment that Gimli first realized that the stones communicated, and that he could communicate back. 

"They sing!" Gimli had marveled. 

"Well, sing back, little fire-top, sing back!" His other cousin Kili had urged, half-teasing and half-serious. Then he let Gimli borrow his flute, and showed him for the first time how to match his notes to the ceaseless rhythms and the ever-changing harmonies of their mountain home. 

Gimli remembered clearly the first time he had ever been bereft of that song. It had been when leaving the caves on an adventure-errand for his mother, with his father and his cousins. It had felt to young Gimli as if the very air thinned out, and lost its alluring hint of fire. 

"How do Men live like this, half-dead and deaf?" Young Gimli had asked his father. 

"They don't notice," said Gimli’s father Gloin shortly. 

"Aye, laddie, their song is different." Lord Balin explained more patiently, when Gimli was not entirely satisfied with the answer supplied by his own Da. 

"This place isn't really that bad,” argued Kili, “the wind through the trees makes a song of sorts." 

It was a very poor imitation of their cavern symphony, but Kili was obviously putting so much effort into making Gimli feel better that it had seemed rude at the time to say so. 

And then as a teenaged dwarf and young adult Gimli traveled all over Middle Earth, peddling the wares his people created, and guarding the caravans of other merchants when their stores ran light. In most places, there was no song. Although if there were notes at all, Kili could find them. He was good at talking to the Men, too. Kili became their spokesperson when the elders weren't about, which was occasionally problematic, because cousin Kili found trouble like cats find mice. Fortunately Fili was there to pull all three of them out of the fire. Young Gimli didn't know what he would have done without them, his cousins and his heart-brothers, Kili to make life interesting and Fili to keep them alive. Much as Fili complained, Gimli knew that he secretly liked having Kili make life interesting, and Gimli to make it more interesting yet. 

There was one thing on which Kili and Gimli agreed, though Fili and Gloin and most of the others though them mad. 

"The stars have a song. A deep, beautiful one, which we could hear clearly if only they weren't so far away." Gimli explained. 

"You're moon-mad, my laddie." Said Gloin, going so far as to look a bit concerned. All knew what Lady Kala would say if her husband were to let their beloved son come to any harm. And that aside, Gimli was the jewel of Gloin's eyes. 

"No, our little hearth-fire has the right of it." Kili came to Gimli’s defense, "The stars sing, almost as if they are made all of stone and fire themselves." 

"They're both daft,” put in Fili with a derisive snort, ”I think that they should cook dinner tonight." 

"Fili, trying to pawn your turn off on your brother and your cousin isn't an act fit for a Prince . . . ." 

Then came the Quest for Erebor. Kili and Fili were lost, and Lord Gloin nearly lost as well. Gimli led Dis and Kala and all who remained to Erebor, through the bandit- stricken wilds and bands of roaming, deserting orcs and goblins. Gimli had never particularly wanted to see his mother swing a ceremonial axe and cleave in two the skull of a goblin, and he never wanted to see it again, but he was very glad that she knew how to do so. 

Gimli wouldn't say that Erebor was worth it, worth everything, but it was beautiful. Its song was even deeper and more complex than the songs of the Blue Mountains. In the heart of that song, Gimli could hear his cousins, Kili's care-free laugh and Fili's quieter tones, encouraging Gimli to try something new. Despite all of that beauty and the new duties which Gimli came to excel at within the halls of Erebor and outside of them defending the mountain and Lake-town, he found that he sometimes missed the stars. It was almost as if those early journeys across Middle Earth with Kili and Fili and their elders had instilled a very un-dwarven wander lust in the young Gimli. He tried to keep it quiet. He thought that his mother probably saw through him, for she was one of the ones who urged him to go with his father and the delegation to Rivendell, to bring King Dain’s warning to Lord Elrond Peredhel. 

Ah, and Rivendell had a song. It had not been one that Gimli had particularly liked - it was too quiet and too serene and too relaxing - but it was a song. And it was nearly as loud as the song of a quiet cave, if not as all encompassing. 

When the Fellowship left Rivendell the quiet was almost a relief, although in later years returning Gimli would come to appreciate the peaceful music of Imladris. He enjoyed it even more after Imladris became Mithiriel and Theli's, and the peaceful song changed to incorporate a golden, challenging laugh and an endless smile. 

Moria's song was broken. Only terrified, fearful warning whispers remained. Moria was the saddest place Gimli had ever traveled through. Even after they returned following the Mage Wars, to cleanse and bless and rebuild, Moria was still sad. Gimli hoped that would change in time, but he wouldn't be there to see it. 

And Lothlorien . . . . well, if Imladris' song soothed a dwarf to sleep, then Lothlorien's awoke him, made him look around and realize how much beauty there was in that woodland realm. Made him marvel at the strength and bravery it had taken to build such a place in the enemy's very backyard, under his malevolent gaze. And the being who had done so . . . . Gimli had never even conceived of anyone like Galadriel. She reminded him all at the once of the stars’ songs, and of his mother's quiet courage, and of his brave cousins, rushing forward to their deaths to buy one more minute for Thorin and Erebor. It was on that day that Gimli pledged his loyalty to the White Lady of Lothlorien, and counted himself honored when she accepted his fealty, and promised to reward his loyalty with her own. 

One of the greatest honors and accomplishments of Gimli's life was living to see Aglarond come into fuller and fuller beauty. Ah, his glittering caves! Their music was amazing, staccato one moment, legato the next, soaring and then stately, spritely and then so grave. Amazing. It was so loud and joyous that even Legolas could hear it. 

And now the sea . . . Gimli had found that the sea had a music all its own. The waves, the wind, the sea creatures, the birds, the water, the clouds and the sky. Even more than the caves, it was a music that let a dwarf decide for himself how he would feel. The sea had a music that washed away the cares of the world, and left a dwarf open to the possibilities shining within his own heart. 

"I don't think I could have arrived in their elven home, without this voyage between us and it," Gimli told Mithiriel, "and I'll deeply miss the sound of the sea when we are once more on land." 

Mithiriel nodded with a soft, knowing smile. "I love the sea. I always have. Imladris is lovely as well, and Minas Tirith and Annuminas and Emyn Arnen are all home, after a fashion. But the sea . . . there is something special about the sea. 

Even as they spoke, the wind picked up, falling from the sky and rising from the ocean to caress them with layers of warmth and cool. It felt almost like an embrace, if wind could embrace. It left them both feeling cared for, and refreshed. 

Mithiriel laughed, a sprightly sound that chimed like bells in the flowing wind. "I think that Lord Ulmo must like you, Uncle Gimli." 

Legolas left aside his contest of leaping from the riggings with Theli and two of the younger elven sailors to come and turn Mithiriel's compliment into a tease, "And is Lord Aule still sending you love letters, my bearded brother?" 

Gimli reached out to his heart-brother's pointy elven ear, in recompense for such irreverence. Even Theli, who was often irreverence personified, shook his head. Mithiriel gave Legolas a Very Disappointed Look, one much feared within their close circle of family and friends. 

Legolas lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I am perhaps a slight bit jealous because none of the Valar are sending me dreams." 

Gimli winced, "You make it sound fair daft, brother-mine. It's more like . . . ." 

"Epistles from the beyond?" suggested Theli, making Mithiriel burst into surprised laughter. 

"Honestly, Green Sword, that is nearly as bad as love letters! It sounds like threats from beyond the grave!" Mithiriel reproved, shaking her head. 

"Well, what would you call it, oh my all-knowing love?" 

"Erestor," called Mithiriel, which elf everyone was grateful had not been there for Legolas' faux-pas, "What would one call dream-visions of Valar and Maiar and kin in the West?" 

Erestor smiled, "You have had them too?" 

"Everyone except me and Legolas,” explained Theli, "Although I've not yet asked all of the sailors, nor Master Sarphen.” The master stonemason Sarphen was the only passenger outside of their little group. It was the offseason for sailing to the West. 

"I think of them as messages of welcome,” said Erestor, "and perhaps the two of you haven’t received one because each of you are quite sure of your welcome." 

"Or not ready to contemplate the end of the journey,” posited Mithiriel. 

Erestor winced, “Please do try to contemplate the end of the journey, he implored them, “not even lembas lasts forever, and I am not that fond of fish and seaweed." 

Neither was Gimli, although he had never before in the past tasted fish and shellfish so succulent, and cooked to such perfection. Even seaweed took on a proper tart taste and firm texture, when it was made by Mithiriel and the ship's cook. 

And the company was good. Well, so as long as their stores of spirits held out, at the least! Gimli preferred the ale brewed by his folk in Aglarond, but the beers brewed in Ithilien and the wines bottled near Mithlond were pleasant enough. 

With Legolas, Theli, Mithiriel, and Erestor for company, the days and the nights were pleasant as well. The company of his dearest friend Legolas would have been enough for Gimli. It had been enough, to convince him to go on this journey. Lord Erestor’s presence was welcome enough, but Imladris’ chief archivist and sometimes-regent was too formal a fellow for Gimli to feel a natural kinship with him. Nor had they ever spent enough time together before the voyage to thaw that formality. But the presence of Mithiriel and Theli knit their group together quite well. It gave all of them another person to rely on, which was well because, as Gimli’s wise mother had once told him, no one can ever be everything to any other one person. 

Legolas and Gimli were the best of friends and brothers. Mithiriel and Theli were the best of friends and lovers. The four of them had traveled together, in the early years of Mithiriel and Theli’s marriage, before the Mage Wars. Then they’d fought together as allies in the Mage Wars. 

Erestor had been in Imladris during the Mage Wars, but he was Mithiriel’s teacher and mentor and sometimes-regent, and one of her best friends. Legolas and Gimli had both doted upon the child Mithiriel, and had come to love the strong-willed, whimsical woman she became. Theli had been mentor, friend, mentee, and kinsman to Legolas, all in the same lifetime. And Gimli and Theli had always gotten on. 

Gimli found Theli good company in part because Theli was more practical than their other companions. Mithiriel, Erestor, and Legolas had all grown up in palaces, either as royalty themselves or as the kin and foster-kin of royalty. That kind of upbringing left certain gaps in one’s knowledge of how work-a-day folk did things, even when one’s parents had done their best to temper the privileges with responsibilities. Gimli knew that Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, and Eowyn had all done their best to prepare their children for the practicalities of life outside the Citadels and manors of Gondor and Arnor, and to a great extent they had succeeded. And over the years Gimli had realized that Legolas, too, had been encouraged to make his way first as a humble soldier before being promoted to officer in his father’s army. Rather to his surprise, Gimli learned on the journey that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, who’d helped to raise Erestor, had made no such effort. 

“We learned many things,” Erestor had explained with a shy, self-deprecating smile, “But few practical ones. And those mostly by accident. Lady Galadriel taught us to cook and bake as a series of science experiments. She would wander the most dangerous sections of Eregion and Khazad-dum without fear, and take child Celebrian and me along with her. No one would dare to hurt us when we were with her, because no one would ever think to hurt her.” 

“If they did, I’d end them,” Gimli promised. 

“Er . . . that is a lovely sentiment, Gimli,” Erestor managed, “No wonder Aunt Galadriel thinks so much of you. But, in any case, we didn’t learn how to manage matters without a servant to aid us until we were much older.” After a pause, Erestor apologetically added, “No offense to my dear foster-sister Celebrian, but I am not sure that she ever learned to do without at least a handmaiden. She never had to, until . . . well.”

And so Gimli also learned much of the things he must not say, when he met this elf or that in the West. Orcs were not to be mentioned, around Elrond’s wife Celebrian. And so Theli and Mithiriel carefully removed from the book prepared by Elrohir for his father a number of sketches from the celebrations after the end of the last Mage War. In one of them, the orc chief who had named himself Taur-Ug the Chain Pulverizer sat beside Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion, the three of them sharing a round of frothing ale with Gimli and Legolas. Taur-Ug had become a friend to the Elrondionnath after he rescued Faramir’s granddaughter Sarangerel from what would have been a horrible death, one that the entirety of the allied armies would not have been in time to prevent. Taur-Ug, the leader of the Renegade Mages’ rebelling orc slaves, had torn the Mage Chieftain torturing Sarangerel into pieces, and then carried the bleeding, injured woman to safety through multiple ranks of Renegade Mages and their servants. 

In the second excised sketch, the fierce elleth Grace sat stoically between a female orc in healer’s robes and the cautious Melpomaen, with Mithiriel and a wryly grinning Theli to the left of the orcish healer. The female orc was Strangler, who had once, long ago, done her oricish best to protect the elfling Grace. Strangler had also once, even longer ago, become an accidental student of Theli’s for a strange night or three. The end of the Mage Wars had brought an end to the open war between most of the surviving orcs and the allied Kingdoms, although enough renegade orcs remained to pose a real danger to the unwary traveler or occasional isolated settlement. But how their company could explain a tentative truce with orcs to elves who had been tortured by orcs, none of Gimli or his companions could quite figure out. You really had to have been there. 

As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excerpt from Chapter 1: 
> 
> "As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage."

The first such day was a joyful surprise for Gimli and his companions, most especially Mithiriel and Theli. However, for the elven captain of their vessel, it was a rather alarming shock.

On their second day out from Mithlond, with the strange current and bracing wind drawing them ever westward, a sail suddenly appeared ahead and to the right of their ship. The sail was white with a dark blue spiral design, the sigil of one of the tribes of Men who made their living fishing and hunting between Himring Island and the Ice Bay of Forochel. They were descendants of the Lossoth who had since learned to sail, and who built and piloted relatively small but exquisitely practical ships. 

Mithiriel and Theli had befriended the Northmen, for so they called themselves in their hybrid language, earlier in the Fourth Age. Prince Faramir’s daughter and King Thranduil’s liegeman had been following up on strange rumors of slave ships coming from the north rather than the south, and had made their way from Mithlond up to the Bay of Forochel. When the spring thaw came, the Northmen offered to sail them as far along the coastline of the Northern Waste as it was possible for their ships to sail. After a harrowing voyage which proved the worth of the little ships, the Northmen vessels passed the Northern Waste to their right, and came upon the coast of Rhun. By doing so, they’d proven the scholars who had said that there was a way to sail from Mithlond to Khand without passing Gondor entirely right.

However, that was of slim comfort when the next thing they found was renegade Khandian and Rhunnic pirate slavers. Only Mithiriel, Theli, their guide the Northman Dakran, and the two youngest of the Northmen sailors had survived the slavers’ attack. And they had only survived because one of the most northerly Rhunnic tribes was loyal to Theodwyn’s father-by-law, and hated slavers besides.

The Northman Dakran had continued to serve Mithiriel and Theli through the First Mage War, the birth of their children, and the beginning of their tenure as the Lady and Lord of Imladris. But when their just-grown daughter Illinare traveled to warn the Northmen of a renewed threat by the Renegade Mages, Dakran had gone with her. Illinare had fallen in love with the northern shores and ships and the Men of the North, and had never come back. Dakran had stayed with her, and died by her side in his eightieth year. Mithiriel and Theli had visited them on many occasions, and Gimli and Legolas had made that great journey a handful of times themselves. 

None of them had expected to see Illinare again, but none of them were really surprised, either. Even more than her mother and father, Illinare did as Illinare willed. There was a reason that the fleet that the Renegade Mages had sent around the Northern Waste to attack Arnor had never arrived at the Two Kingdoms, and it wasn’t all due to the Northmen’s prowess as sailors. Illinare was her mother’s daughter and even more. But to Gimli’s knowledge, that aborted invasion was the one time she’d ever truly used that power. Well, just now might be a second.

“No ship from Middle Earth should have been able to catch us on the Straight Road,” Captain Nemiron said grimly, reaching for his sword.

Legolas caught the captain’s hand. Gimli placed a broad hand on Nemiron’s other arm.

“Softly, Elf,” he cautioned the elven sea captain in his calmest gruff tone, the one that always worked on Legolas, and even sometimes got Thranduil to listen, “Calm yourself down. Lady Illinare is Lady Mithiriel and Lord Ecthelion’s older daughter. She’s just come with her ship and her crew to bid her parents farewell on their journey.”

“But, you don’t understand, Lord Gimli!” Captain Nemiron protested, “Not since Ar-Pharazon dared attack Aman has a human vessel sailed this far West!”

“And I doubt that one ever shall again,” Legolas said lightly. His tone was soothing and sweet. One would have to know him as intimately as Gimli did to know that Legolas was truly just a hair’s breadth away from knocking the sea captain unconscious before Nemiron had a chance to do something foolish. Gimli really did love his elven brother. Legolas wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done if his charm didn’t work. 

“But this human vessel is here, now,” said Gimli, “So we need to stop our boat so that they can have their visit, and then turn back away to the east.” 

“Our vessel is NOT a boat, it’s a ship,” the long-suffering Captain Nemiron corrected automatically, “and it’s lower the anchor, not stop the ship.”

“Give the order, then!” Gimli encouraged the elf.

Baffled and bewildered but no longer fearful, Captain Nemiron did.

With a laughter and cheerful whooping, the Northmen swung a board across the gap between the two ships. Illinare herself crossed it first, catching her comparatively petite mother in her arms.

“Naneth,” Illinare greeted in accented Westron, “You are just as disgustingly tiny and perfect as always!”

Mithiriel responded to the half-tease with her bell-like laugh and total sincerity, “And you just as strong and beautiful. Now, tell me what adventures you’ve had since I’ve seen you last? And where are my grandchildren?”

“I know who you really want to see,” Illinare teased again, moving out of the way as a line of dancing, singing children crossed the board, aided here and there as needed by tall, burly men and muscular, tanned women.

Mithiriel bent to embrace her grandchildren one by one, greeting them by name in the Northmen’s tongue. Illinare found her father.

“Well-met, my blue-fire gale!” Theli said, his voice husky and his eyes shining with unshed tears.

For once, Illinare had no words. She just buried herself in his chest. The two of them were of a height, though Theli was just a hair taller. They both bore swords, though Illinare’s was heavier, which matched her even more muscular frame. 

Laughing and crying herself, Illinare moved on to embrace Erestor, Legolas, and then Gimli in turn. Her white-streaked red hair flowed down her back, half loose and half in braids. Illinare’s eyes were a deep blue like her father’s. The color reminded Gimli of one-specific cave in Aglarond. In that sheltered space, there was a string of polished sapphires that shone darkly at midnight in the moon-shadows. 

Illinare’s extraordinary eyes were just a shade darker than the bright blue designs painted sparingly on her strong face and bare, well-muscled arms. It was a good thing that years of traveling to exotic locations, and time spent with Faramir’s flamboyant family, had mostly inured Gimli to female nudity. For Illinare wore only a short undyed leather corset and leggings. Her flat stomach was bare, her belly button pierced with a gold ring sporting two small blue stones.

In Illinare’s wake came what seemed like dozens of chattering children. They were accompanied by Northmen and women, dressed similarly to Illinare.

Legolas leaned closer to Gimli and whispered, “Which one of these tall, muscular dark-haired men is our blue-eyed girl’s husband?”

“I have no idea,” Gimli replied. He did venture a guess, “Those two that Theli is exchanging back slaps with?”

“Two?” asked Legolas, with a startled blink of long pale gold eye lashes.

Gimli shrugged, “It may be three. If you’ll recall, the Northmen take husbands and wives for a life or for only a season. And provided that all parties consent, then there can be more than two people in a marriage.”

“Hmm. I’d forgotten all about that.”

“You did spent most of that visit quite prodigiously drunk,” Gimli offered. It hadn’t been long after the second Mage War, and Legolas’ capture and imprisonment during that conflict. Gimli had dragged him to the other side of Middle Earth in part to give him more time to recover his mental equilibrium without having to play the lord or prince.

Then there was no further time for talk between themselves, for Gimli and Legolas were surrounded by swarms of children with slightly pointed ears, Some were pale-skinned and red-haired, others dark-skinned and dark-haired. Many of them had brilliant sapphire eyes. But all of them wanted stories! 

At one point, Gimli found himself asking Theli, “And how many grandchildren do you have from Illinare?

“Twenty-three,” Theli answered with a proud grin, “and counting.”

“Surely not that many?” Legolas forgot himself enough to ask Theli, his shock quite apparent. He then quite obviously tried to count all of the children with slightly pointed ears, which was difficult because all of the little ones moved very quickly.

Theli chuckled. “Aye, that many. Including not only the children born to Illinare, but also those she’s adopted, and the other children of her husbands.”

“Ahh,” said Gimli, content after having solved that mystery, “That sounds about right, then.”

As the sky purpled and the sun set majestically in the West, Illinare’s children sang songs of the Northmen to their grandparents for the last time.

“Illinare has nine biological children,” Legolas concluded immediately afterward.

“Because nine of them have pointed ears?” Gimli asked. He’d been trying to count, too, but even when they sang, they moved around a bit.

“No, because of the golden voice.”

“Ah,” said Gimli, for all of Illinare’s children by blood would be the many-times greatgrandchildren of Maglor courtesy of Mithrellas of Lorien, who had married Imrazor of Dol Amroth. Maglor Feanorion’s beautiful voice had bred true, generation to generation. Although Mithiriel would later claim that maybe that was no longer the case, and that it didn’t matter anyway, because all twenty-three of them were her grandchildren.

But it had bred true in Mithiriel. Even though she did not particularly like to sing, she had a lovely voice. Unlike most of her family, she did not play an instrument well. But Gimli and Master Sarphen did, and so Mithiriel, Theli, Legolas and Erestor sang of Luthien and Beren, of Aragorn and Arwen, and of Mithrellas and her cousins. All the things that they hoped Illinare’s children would not forget. For yes, they were Northmen. But they were also of Gondor, and Arnor, and could always go there and be welcomed home as kin. 

As the stars shone high above, they bid farewell to Illinare and her family and crew amidst much rejoicing. The Northmen didn’t believe in lamentations, and neither did Illlinare.

“We’ll meet again, ‘ere the world ends,” she bravely promised her parents, shouting the words from the rear of her ship as it sailed away to the east. “And I’ll look out for Elrond and my nephews and niece until then. You two look after Nestor and Ceredisgail, when they sail!”

“We will,” Theli promised, and waved good bye to the daughter he and Mithiriel would not see again until the world’s end.

“I’ve never been happier that I never became a father,” Gimli told Legolas, as they subtly watched out for the grieving parents later that night.

“And I as well,” Legolas agreed.

“It’s not too late for you,” Gimli pointed out, as much a knee-jerk tease as a serious point. Although he did begin to suspect that if he really wanted a wife, great Mahal would twist whatever rules there were to find one, just for Gimli. Gimli had been very clear in his dreams that he did not need – or want – that level of consideration! He’d considered marriage, once in his youth. But he’d never met a dwarf-maiden who made his heart beat only for her, and he’d never desired to marry for anything other than love. Unlike Legolas’ situation, the majority of the female dwarves were not on the other side of the sea. No, if Gimli hadn’t met a beloved during his travels amongst all the dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth, then that meant he had never been intended to have one. And that was well enough. His life was full enough, and he had no regrets. Some wonder, aye, and surprise at the journey he was now undertaking. But no regrets.

“Ugh, Gimli, not you too!” Legolas objected, moving Gimli away from such sober thoughts.

Gimli chuckled heartily at the expected reaction. The most eligible elven bachelor on Middle Earth did not like being pointed towards ellith as if he were a prize stallion! And implying that Legolas should take a wife was always good for a laugh at his elven-brother’s reaction.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes:
> 
> “Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.” - Nora Roberts 
> 
> “She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire.” - Charles Bukowski 
> 
> Excerpt from Previous Chapter: 
> 
> "As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage."

The next day that Gimli remembered as distinct from the others was the day they fought the sea monster. The day before that had been a fairly average one, of which his memories were pleasantly hazy. He did remember hauling in a particularly large and toothy shark for dinner.

It was after dinner, while counting the shark’s many teeth, that the topic of seamonsters first arose.

“I’ve seen them,” Mithiriel commented, “several different times, when sailing with Uncle Imrahil and cousin Erchirion. I actually moved one from the sea onto a deserted beach once.”

They were sitting again on the bow of the ship, watching the stars come out above. It was only the four of them and Erestor, so everyone knew of Mithiriel’s magic. The westward blowing wind washed their words out ahead of them, so none of the crew or the sole other passenger could hear.

“That sounds like a remarkably stupid way for you to exhaust yourself,” Theli commented, a rare cross expression on his face, “Lord-the-Captain Glorfindel’s idea, I’d guess?”

“It was, yes,” Mithiriel agreed, “He thought that it was important to know what the limits of my powers were. A week later when I woke up, Ada still wasn’t speaking to him.”

“What do they look like?” Legolas asked. To Gimli’s ears, he sounded almost wistful. Which was foolish, though Gimli found himself feeling much the same way. The sailors in Mithlond had caught a sea monster once, but Lord Gloin’s caravan had already been a day out on the way back to the Blue Mountains. Gimli, Fili, and Kili had all begged to go back for a look, but Gloin had refused.

Mithiriel tilted her head thoughtfully, “I’ve seen three sea monsters. No, four. And they each looked different. Except the last two, which were mostly the same.”

“There are at least ten different varieties that I saw when I was sailing with the Dol Amroth navy under Princes Imrazor and Galador, and later during the kin-slaying,” Theli offered, “Some look like dragons, save wingless. Those generally have scales that are in jewel tones. They’re beautiful until they try to kill you. Others look like giant octopuses . . .”

“Octopi,” Mithiriel and Erestor corrected him at the same time. With a chagrinned smile, Erestor tilted his head in apology and gestured for Theli to go on.

But he’d been distracted. “Octopi? Really? Octopuses sounds better,” Theli protested. 

“It’s octopi,” Mithiriel confirmed, “Sorry, Green Sword. And actually, I think that Uncle Imrahil calls them krakens.”

“Not kraktopi?” Theli teased.

“Oh, stop with the grammar lesson and tell us what they look like already!” Gimli demanded. Left to their own devices, Mithiriel and Theli could flirt all night. And if it was about grammar, Mithiriel and Erestor could debate all night, and Gimli knew to his despair that Legolas only pretended not to be interested in those discussions. 

“They look like giant octopi,” Theli said again, “with heads the size of half a ship. They have at least eight arms, each arm as large around as an orc, and longer than the length of three tall men stacked on top of each other. And they are usually either a brick red or an unappetizing fleshy color.”

“Those were the last two I saw,” Mithiriel explained, “Including the one I stranded on the beach. Apparently it fed a village for the better part of a year, once it had been salted and stored. I tried some of it,” she paused and then remarked thoughtfully, “Actually, it wasn’t half bad.”

“Not half bad in comparison to war rations,” Gimli asked skeptically, “Or not half bad in comparison to your mother’s cooking?”

Everyone laughed, except Erestor, who only chuckled. He alone out of all of them had never been exposed to one of Eowyn’s attempts to be ‘helpful’ in the kitchen.

“More the first than the second, actually,” said Mithiriel merrily, “In fact, I wouldn’t really mind some kraken as a break from fish, shell fish, and shark.”

“I wouldn’t mind anything that wasn’t fish,” said Erestor, “It reminds me of when I was a poor student in Lindon.”

“Poor Erestor,” Mithiriel said kindly, “I’m glad that Lord Elrond got that straightened out for you quickly enough.” 

“I don’t think I ever heard that story,” said Legolas, and that was all it took for the night’s telling of tales to begin. From Erestor and Elrond meeting again in Lindon, it moved to Gimli and Kili making friends with a miller’s son in the Blue Mountains.

“Fili was off with the trading caravans,” Gimli began, “our elders had judged him mature enough to help with their journeying, but Kili and I were still too young. My mother, Kala, and Kili’s mother Dis, tried to keep us occupied. But we were young and felt offended by having been left behind. So, we were determined to find something to occupy ourselves that would prove our worth and maturity. We went off wandering the lands around the Blue Mountains when we were supposed to be at home, and that is when we met the miller’s son, Ralf.”

“Young Ralf had been hired to help the town’s shepherd with wintering his flock in the mountains. Kili and I helped scare away a wolf that was menacing his young charges. The teenaged lad was grateful, and invited us to share his fire. I was unharmed, but Kili had taken a painful bite to the arm. Young fools that we were,” Gimli said with a rueful laugh at his younger self, “it didn’t occur to us to clean it properly. A snow storm set in while we were with Ralf, so we were forced to shelter with him. By the time that we returned home, our mothers were frantic, and Kili had a sweltering fever.”

“I’m sure someone's ears were ringing after your cousin recovered,” Legolas teased.

Gimli was a bit surprised by that, then realized that his elven brother hadn’t quite forgotten the lecture Gimli had given him and Mithiriel for purposely jumping overboard to go swimming the previous day. Deciding to grant Legolas a bit of slack, Gimli allowed, “Aye, though my mother’s first concern was for her sick nephew. She had no healer’s training herself, but Dis knew most of the basics. Lady Dis had wanted to train as a healer herself. But as a princess of Erebor she’d had too many responsibilities to dedicate the proper amount of time to it.”

“She certainly knew a great deal of the healer’s craft by the time I met her in Aglarond,” Theli observed, “I learned a fair bit from her about which cave-growing plants can be used in poultices and potions.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Gimli said, swiftly taking back the conversation, for Theli needed little invitation to go into rather boring details when it came to his beloved craft, “But at the time, I was merely relieved to see Kili on the mend. Not that I was relieved for very long,” Gimli chuckled, “my mother had a word or two to say about the whole incident, and no doubt about that! Nor did Ralf’s father think much of him having decided to fight off wolves to save sheep, rather than just leaving the silly things to their fate.”

“How did he find out?” asked Mithiriel.

She really was Faramir’s daughter, Gimli reflected, then explained, “Oh, our mothers decided to visit him and his Da at the mill, to make sure that he’d recovered well from his ordeal. Lady Dis was concerned at first by our friendship with a human, but my mother said that it was always a good thing to make a new friend. And especially one who was kin to old Mayor Seward Eyrikson, who had always dealt fairly with we dwarves.”

“Lady Kala always was a sensible sort,” Legolas said, with a fondly reminiscent smile on his face.

“Aye, she took to you right from the start,” Gimli agreed, “though it took Da longer to come around.” 

“He didn’t really warm to Legolas until after he heard the story of how Legolas saved your life during the war with the Haradrim, right, Uncle Gimli?” Mithiriel asked.

“Aye, my lass. Not until then.” 

“I also went off to play with humans when I was a child,” recalled Legolas, ”I wish that my father had taken that anywhere near as calmly as Lady Kala and Lady Dis.”

“Well, Legolas,” Theli said with a grin, “to be fair to your father, I think it had more to do with you going on a solo journey of several days’ duration, each way, through spider and orc infested wilderness, to visit your human friends. And all that while you were supposed to be camping under the careful supervision of your older foster-brother.”

“Details,” said Legolas, waving his hand in an airy fashion. With an answering grin, he turned the tables on Theli and asked, “How about the tale of how you and Ada became friends in the first place, during the War of the Last Alliance?”

“You’ve heard that story before,” Theli said, but he tolerantly told it again anyway when Legolas persisted.

When Theli was finished, Legolas complained, “But you still haven’t told me what Ada did to get put on ditch-digging detail at the same time as you.”

“Nor will I,” said Theli, cheerful but firm. “If you want to know, ask him.”

“He said to ask him again when I turn two thousand.”

Mithiriel turned to Gimli and made the subtle hand sign they’d developed a few weeks ago, that meant ‘they’re talking about big numbers again, can you even imagine getting that old?’

Gimlmi nodded back. He was glad that they’d put that sentiment into non-verbal short hand so that they could stop saying the whole thing every time. It always and invariably resulted in a series of concerned looks from Legolas, Theli, and Erestor when they said it aloud.

“Gimli?” asked Legolas, who seemed to be catching onto the hand sign. He always was quick, it was one of the things Gimli liked about him. One rarely had to explain things twice to Legolas, yet at the same time he made no great show of that. It was a positively dwarf-like quality that Gimli quite appreciated, even if Legolas took it too far at times.

To change the subject, Gimli asked, “And how did himself,” meaning Thranduil, “take acquiring a wood-elf as a cousin as opposed to a friend?”

Theli smiled softly, “Remarkably well, especially considering that he found out about it at the same time that Elladan decided to make Faramir’s crimes as a spy seem less egregious by confessing to everyone about our trips into the Enemy lands on Gandalf’s behalf.”

Turning to Legolas, Theli elaborated, “Your father unequivocally told Uncle Celeborn, who’d only just found out that I was his nephew, that I was a Greenwood elf, and that Uncle Celeborn couldn’t have me. Thranduil stood up to Uncle Celeborn, even though Uncle Celeborn had been of the opinion that I needed to be civilized for over an age, and had firmly intended to take on that task himself. Your father said that he would teach me everything that I needed to know to be the great-grandson of a King. And for the most part, he did. It was one of the kindest things that anyone has ever done for me.”

“When you weren’t dribbling soup on yourself to scare away potential wives,” Legolas teased fondly.

“Even then,” Theli said with a light laugh, “Even then. That particular set of events mostly amused Thranduil, but he generally knew when I was faking not being able to do something I didn’t want to do and when I was really having trouble with something, and acted accordingly. He even went so far as to hire me tutors who knew how to teach a student who kept reversing his letters. And then took the time out of his own busy schedule to lecture me when I ‘forgot’ to show up to lessons!”

“In all honesty, it’s Thalion and I who owe you our thanks,” said Legolas, “teaching you to be a royal lord distracted Ada from micro-managing our lives in Ithilien-en-Edhil for nearly a decade.”

“I’ve still never seen you act the royal elven lord,” Gimli remarked to Theli, “though you’ve acted the responsible statesman in Aglarond and Erebor.”

Legolas’ gaze narrowed, “Gimli, are you implying something derogatory about royal elven lords?”

“Aye,” Gimli freely admitted, “But you’re a prince. You’re far worse!”

That turned into a friendly wrestling match between Legolas and Gimli. Mithiriel left them to it with a laugh. Carefully stepping around the tussle, she walked over to the rail and stared off into the waves and the stars with a peaceful smile.

Out of one ear Gimli heard a sheepish Erestor doing a bad job of covertly asking Theli a series of questions. Gimli wasn’t really paying attention, as trying to pin Legolas without either of them bashing into the side rail of the ship was always a tricky bit of maneuvering. Of course, he had Legolas beaten in straight-out strength, but the trouble was getting his elven brother to stay still long enough without squirming out of a hold and tripping Gimli to boot. But Gimli did overhear enough to realize what the topic was – how long Theli thought that the voyage would take. As that was of interest to him as well, Gimli paused for half a second to listen more closely.

Unfortunately, that was just enough distraction for Legolas to succeed in kicking Gimli into a net strung out to dry on the deck.

“Ha!” whooped the pleased elf. “You’re off your game tonight, dwarf!”

Gimli weighed the relative pleasure he’d get from tossing Legolas overboard against his own interest in finding out whether Theli might actually have some idea of how much longer they would be on this boat. Not that the voyage was unpleasant, but . . . the longer they spent sailing the more he felt the desire to arrive, and get started on the new challenges awaiting them. That, and Gimli was tired of fish. No matter how well it was prepared.

Somewhat concerned at Gimli’s longer than usual silence, Legolas asked, “Gimli? You’re not thinking of throwing me overboard again, are you?”

Thinking of another reason why it would be better to see what Theli might know than retaliate against Legolas in that specific way, Gimli replied, “No, brother. I don’t want you to get left behind and almost drown yourself again, after all.”

Legolas gave him a very disappointed look. It wasn’t quite as good as Mithiriel’s, but it was nothing to sneeze at, either.

“At this point in a conversation,” Legolas said with lofty reproach, “Faramir would always say, ‘bought and paid for.’”

“Yes, yes,” Gimli agreed, “I’m not mad at you anymore.” To prove it, he let Legolas give him a hand up from the net. Then he walked over and sat down beside Theli and Erestor, with Legolas following curiously behind.

“What’s this about you having an inside line on when this boat trip is going to be over?” Gimli asked Theli bluntly.

Theli sighed as Erestor frantically shushed Gimli and looked over to Mithiriel at the railing.

After his own glance at his wife, who gave no sign of hearing them, Theli explained, “What I was just telling Erestor is that I don’t. He thought that I might know because of needing to know how much of Mithiriel’s medicines to bring with us. But I just packed two years’ worth of dry ingredients. I doubt it will take longer than that.”

“Mahal, I hope not,” said Gimli, at the same time that Erestor implored the Valar that it not be so.

“It won’t take two years,” said Mithiriel, turning away from the railing and walking back to them with a whimsical smile, “It will only take as long as we all want it to take. The West is very responsive to wishes. Theli and I wish that it not take longer than two years because it would be bad for my health if it did. And the Straight Road will respond to that.”

“Back up, Lady Difficult,” Legolas requested, “You lost me at wishes.”

“Oh, I did not, Prince Perceptive!” Mithiriel objected, “Just for that, you can explain.”

Gimli chuckled. Legolas sometimes took his airhead act a bit far. It was nice to be traveling with someone else who could call him out on it. Even after over a century together, Gimli couldn’t always tell when Legolas was just playing the innocent for a laugh, or out of laziness, as opposed to when he was truly confused.

Legolas sighed dramatically. Then, at Mithiriel’s stubborn, imperious expression, he gave in, “The West, for the elves, and for whoever else dwells there,” he added with a nod towards Gimli and Mithiriel, “is almost like a mix of Middle Earth and the Halls of Mandos. Like on Middle Earth, there can be crime and inequity. But like in Mandos, the land and the water are responsive to what the inhabitants wish to happen. Very strong desires, for good ends or ill, although if the Valar are made aware not the latter, can affect what the land looks like and what the water will do.”

“Generally in minor ways,” Mithiriel clarified, “But the Path to the West is likely particularly sensitive, due to its very nature.”

Erestor appeared fascinated, “How do you know any of this, Miriel-nin? Anatar Glorfindel would hardly ever tell us anything about the West.”

“Because Lady Galadriel told Ada and Legolas once,” Mithiriel explained.

“It was a very strange conversation,” Legolas remarked, “It was not long after the Ring War, before we knew Faramir very well. I was bothering – er, visiting, Faramir, in an attempt to get him to come with us to liberate that bear from the traveling carnival on the Pelennor. Do you remember that, Gimli?”

“It would be hard to forget watching you dress a bear in borrowed widow’s weeds and get it to sit in the passenger seat of a wagon pretending to be Pippin’s grandmother,” Gimli said with a fondly reminiscent smile. 

“It wouldn’t even have been possible if Faramir hadn’t given us those forged trading documents,” Legolas said cheerfully, “But in any case, Lady Galadriel arrived before I’d half gotten started, and began a philosophical conversation with Faramir about the formation of the World and the differences between valar, maiar, elves, men, dwarves, hobbits, and orcs. Somehow that went into the differences between the West, the Halls of Mandos, and Middle Earth. I’m not sure exactly how. I escaped the conversation as soon as I could.”

Mithiriel looked ready to say something along the lines of a sarcastic, ‘of course you did,’ but since Theli and Gimli both knew better than to tease Legolas too much when he played dumb, Theli took her hand and squeezed it to distract her. Legolas’ insistence on not being interested in such matters was rooted to his feelings of abandonment from when his siblings died and he had become his father’s heir. 

“But,” Legolas continued, “I did not know anything about the Straight Road being particularly susceptible to wish magic. Why is that, Lady Difficult?” he asked, turning attention back to his verbal sparring partner Mithiriel.

Mithiriel blinked, apparently surprised that he would even need to ask the question. But always well-disposed to explaining just about anything, Mithiriel gamely began, “Well, it’s magic, you see? Magic done by the Valar, but magic still, and magic works in certain ways. The Valar made two different “wests,” or at least they did after Ar-Pharazon sailed West at Sauron’s urging to try and take over Aman. Before that, it was the same “West,” just very hard to get to from Middle Earth because it was very far. There were probably short cuts that could make it easier if you knew where to find them, and maybe veils of some kind, that would have made it even harder to get to if you didn’t know where they were . . .,” Mithiriel paused, distracted by those thoughts.

“Get back to the main point, Lady Difficult,” Legolas urged. Theli, meanwhile, looked around, as if to make sure that no one else was listening. Then he looked up at the sky and over at the water, smiling wryly, as if both proud of his wife but also asking the powers-that-be to be patient with her.

“Oh, yes,” Mithiriel resumed, seeming unaware that she’d even trailed off, “Anyway, now, and since Ar-Pharazon’s aborted invasion, if a normal human or dwarven or hobbit ship from Middle Earth were to sail due west for long enough, they’d either just keep going forever, or if the world is round as many scholars think, they’d just go most of the way back around the world and get back to the other side of Middle Earth. For example, a human ship that left Mithlond and sailed straight west would eventually come back around to the boundary lands between the Northern Waste and Rhun. Either way, the human ship would sail right past Aman as if it didn’t exist. Because to them, it wouldn’t.”

Sensing that her audience wasn’t completely following, Mithiriel continued, “There’s an almost impenetrable veil of sorts, such that now there are two different “wests” that exist in the same place at the same time. To get to the “West,” as in Tol Eressea and Aman, you have to take the Straight Road. The Straight Road being this current that is taking us straight to the West, and you have to be able to find it. An elven ship can, because the Valar, specifically Lord Ulmo, want the elves to be able to. A human ship probably couldn’t. The separation of the two wests had to be done after Ar-Pharazon’s treason, and it’s likely been done by magic rather than physical might, and magic only works so many different ways.” 

Erestor was leaning forward towards Mithiriel, scholarly fervor shining in his dark eyes. It made him seem almost a young elf for the first time since Gimli had met him.

“Do you really think that is how it works, Mithiriel-nin?” Erestor asked his former pupil.

“Well, that’s how I’d do it, if I had the immeasurable power it would take to do it,” Mithiriel explained, “I’d separate the tapestry of the world into two. Or rather, make a distinct panel that can be laid over a specific section of the whole to change the picture. But you couldn’t go from one panel to the other without the seamstress deciding to move your thread.” 

“And we’re fairly sure that’s pretty close to how it really works,” Theli added wryly, “because after Mithiriel explained her theory to Great Uncle Cirdan, along with ‘this is how I’d do it’ and a number of her other theories, he went white with shock. Then he told her she that she had figured out dangerous secrets with the blithe disregard of a child playing with a logic puzzle game.”

“And then Uncle Cirdan spent the entire voyage from Eryn Vorn to Mithlond teaching us all sorts of mental tricks for hiding knowledge like that from anyone who might try to read it in our eyes,” Mithiriel explained, sounding both as if she’d had a good time but also felt guilty because that type of thing wasn’t Theli’s idea of fun, “even though I told him that human magic doesn’t work like that.” 

“And not long after that conversation with Great Uncle Cirdan and the resulting mind magic lessons,” Theli continued, “We both started having dreams indicating that we’d be very welcome in the West. There was a slight hint of ‘and you should keep your mouth shut about what you know,’ to those dreams.”

“So, we haven’t talked about it between now and then,” Mithiriel said, “But it doesn’t matter that anyone on this ship knows, because we’ve the Valar’s leave to go to the West, and we’ll be there soon enough anyway. And,” she said, growing sad, for she, too, had loved ones still on Middle Earth, “it’s not as if just anyone in the West can share that knowledge with someone on Middle Earth. Lady Galadriel probably could, and there are some others, but . . .”

“They’ve probably also been given the ‘things you need to keep your mouth shut about,’ lecture,” Theli concluded.

Gimli frowned at the very thought of anyone, even a Vala, telling his Lady Galadriel something so rude! But then, he comforted himself, his Lady was undoubtedly wise enough to make the appropriate decisions without being so harshly counseled. 

“Personally,” said Mithiriel, “I think that a number of scholars on Middle Earth, including probably Ada, have the whole thing figured out. But it’s not as if it can be changed, and there was no point upsetting Great Uncle Cirdan by talking about it. Ada and I always found more than enough to talk about, anyway.”

Gimli wasn’t that concerned with the mechanics of how sailing to the West worked. In fact, he found it slightly amusing that Mithiriel had managed to horrify a being as old as Lord Cirdan with her off the cuff guesses! However, as he would discuss later with Legolas, the implications of someone like the Renegade Blood Mages finding out how the “two wests” had been separated could potentially have been disastrous.

Gimli knew from fighting the Blood Mages that they hadn’t had the same raw power as Sauron, even in his incorporeal form. But what if the Blood Mages had been able to set up their blood sacrifices in every city, town, and village in Middle Earth, as they’d planned to do if they had won the Mage Wars? With that much power, maybe the Blood Mages could have challenged the Valar, as Sauron and his master Morgoth had both once planned to do. And if the Blood Mages had been able to get their hands on someone like Mithiriel, whom they could have tortured into telling them how the magic of going to the West worked, so that they could break it . . .

Yes, Gimli did now understand on another level why Mithiriel and Theli had been invited to sail. In fact, he rather thought that the Valar would have been happier if all of Mithiriel and Theli’s children had chosen to sail before having children of their own. Mithiriel’s power combined with her playful insights made her a dangerous foe when she did choose to take a stand. All of her children had inherited some of that. Illinare had inherited the most, but fortunately for the Valar and all the rest of Middle Earth, Illinare just wanted to raise her family in safety and freedom.

But Gimli wasn’t thinking of all the implications of Mithiriel and Legolas’ explanations that night on the ship’s deck under the stars. Instead, he was thinking about some more personal wishes he had himself for life in the west. Small things, perhaps, but important to him.

“So,” he asked, “If the right type of hops for making good, strong dwarven ale don’t exist in the West, then they might just . . . start to grow?”

“More like, within a few plant generations, the crops on your field would change, so that they could make ale closer to what you think is the perfect ale,” Mithiriel theorized, “And you’d have to really want it, even if you didn’t know that you did.”

“Oh, I want good ale!” said Gimli, “And I’m well aware of it!”

“We’re all well aware of it,” said Legolas dryly, passing Gimli another bottle of wine.

Gimli sniffed derogatively, but it didn’t stop him from taking the wine.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, as had all of their mornings on the way to the West. Gimli helped Mithiriel mend nets while Legolas and Theli set up fishing and crabbing lines. Then Gimli played chess with Legolas while Erestor read a book he’d been planning to read since the Second Age but hadn’t ever found the time for. Mithiriel and Theli, both of whom had spent a fair amount of time on ships in the past, lent their hands to whatever the sailors could use assistance with. And so it was Theli, high in the crow’s nest serving as look-out, who first shouted, “there’s something large coming up port-side!”

“Is it another whale?” Gimli called up, intrigued. Ever since he’d first heard whale song several weeks ago, he’d been enamored with the gentle giants of the deep.

“Or a school of dolphins?” Legolas asked hopefully. He and Mithiriel could watch the playful creatures for hours on end.

“No, too small for a whale, too big for dolphins,” Theli reported tensely, “Get up here, Tithen-Las. We could use your eyes.”

“I’m taller than you are,” Legolas griped, but he didn’t hesitate to nimbly climb up the rigging as if it were no more complicated a matter than going up a stair case.

Shading his eyes to look out into the distance, Legolas said, “It looks like a . . . a giant glob of mucus?” 

“Fornicating Orcs!” Theli cursed. Captain Nemiron and his first mate were swearing too, in between shouting orders for the crew to get their weapons and load the cannons.

“That, Legolas,” shouted Mithiriel as she tossed him his quiver and her husband his sword, “Is what a kraken looks like when it is speeding towards your ship with its eight huge limbs beneath it.”

“Oh,” said Legolas, and cursed if he wasn’t hiding a grin. Well enough, so was Gimli!

He took his axe from Mithiriel, who’d gone running below decks in search of weapons as soon as Theli announced that whatever it was, was neither dolphin nor whale. Then Gimli hefted his axe into the air with a dwarven war cry. Despite his preference for peace, going into a fray yet again with his elven brother by his side gave him a certain joyful thrill. Even when times were peaceful, Gimli had been accustomed to doing exciting things on a fairly regular basis. Climbing mountains, exploring new lands or caverns, spelunking, engaging in tourneys, and many other activities that really got the blood racing, all of them usually with Legolas at his side. The voyage to the West had been almost too peaceful.

And fighting off the kraken made for a jolly little dust-up! After a very exciting thirty minutes, the kraken retreated with the ship no worse for the wear except for a section of broken railing and some torn sailcloth. All of the damages were easily repairable with the stores and tools they had on board. Even the kraken hadn’t been injured, beyond the loss of part of one leg (which would apparently grow back, according to Mithiriel) and a single large, black tooth.

They spent several hours helping the crew make repairs, then that night everyone feasted on leg of kraken.

After dinner, the sailors and the passengers shared songs and tales of sea monsters. Gimli hadn’t heard any of them before, given that he’d usually been with Legolas when he wasn’t in Aglarond. Their human family had tried hard not to mention anything about the sea around Legolas, and so Gimli hadn’t heard those stories, either. Mithiriel shared two songs about her grandfather Aragorn when he’d traveled to Umbar with Imrahil under the name Thorongil, long before the Ring War.

“My brother Elboron’s favorite was ‘Dread Captain Thorongil,’” she explained, “in which Daerada Aragorn’s youthful alter-ego breathed fire and then rode to battle on a kraken, slaying the brave defenders of Umbar.” Mithiriel smiled mischievously, “but Daernana Arwen’s favorite was the parody of that song, in which Daerada Aragorn proceeded to develop an unfortunate romantic attachment to said kraken after the end of the battle, thus explaining his subsequent disappearance from Gondor.”

When the night had grown late and quiet, Mithiriel turned to Legolas and Gimli.

“I didn't want to say so before the crew, Master Sarphen, and especially Erestor fell asleep,” Mithiriel told them with another mischievous smile, “but the two of you do realize that we fought a sea monster today because you two secretly wanted to fight a sea monster, don't you?”

Legolas, still polishing the tooth the monster had lost, looked to Gimli. Then they both started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Mithiriel’s magic is discussed. It is further described in “Burning Mad,” available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7210286


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote: 
> 
> Tolkien said of Galadriel "She was proud, strong, and selfwilled, as were all the descendants of Finwë save Finarfin; and like her brother Finrod, of all her kin the nearest to her heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage. Yet deeper still there dwelt in her the noble and generous spirit of the Vanyar, and a reverence for the Valar that she could not forget. From her earliest years she had a marvellous gift of insight into the minds of others, but judged them with mercy and understanding, and she withheld her goodwill from none save only Fëanor. In him she perceived a darkness that she hated and feared, though she did not perceive that the shadow of the same evil had fallen upon the minds of all the Noldor, and upon her own."

The day they fought the sea monster was the last of the days Gimli remembered as being particularly distinct from all the others, at least until the day their voyage finally ended.

But even though the individual days and nights melted the one into the other, he remembered all of the conversations they’d had, the stories they’d shared, and the songs they’d sung for one another. The five of them spoke of grave things, such as wars and the hardships survived by the Fellowship, and bitter things, such as the deaths of friends lost in the primes of their life to combat or sickness. But they spoke also of sweet things, like weddings and births and the successes of friends and kin and countries. And they spoke too of silly things, such as Pippin’s and Merry’s antics on the Quest, and the quarrel between Mithiriel's sisters Theodwyn the Chieftainess of Rhun and Haleth the Empress of Khand, over who got to take home which of the toys made for them as children to give to their own children to play with, and how Elboron's wife Cellaras and Arwen had joined forces to resolve it.

“Which explains,” said Gimli, once he could catch his breath from laughing, “a series of strange letters I received from Arwen and Cellaras, asking if I could make or have made a replica of this-or-such toy I made for you lot when you were tiny. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why they had become so nostalgic all of a sudden!”

“Oh, no,” laughed Mithiriel, “It was the practical ones, Theodwyn and Haleth, who absolutely had to have those bits of their past for their children and grandchildren. The emotional ones – Elboron, Elion, and I – were, according to Theodwyn, so tetchy when we were growing up that we used up all of our ability to be difficult as adults.”

“I’ve never noticed that . . .” Legolas began, hiding a smile, which disappeared with an “oof” as Mithiriel elbowed him in the stomach. 

Gimli, for his part, shared the well-known songs of the Erebor and Aglarond dwarves, such as “Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold.” He could play a bit of the pipe himself. Master Sarphen’s violin was close enough to the dwarven string instruments, and Theli was a tolerable drummer. Many of the sailors played instruments, and would gladly lend their talents and time when off-shift.

When it was just their group of five, Gimli also shared some of his people’s private songs and epics. At his sister Alys’ suggestion, Gimli had spoken with King Thorin III Stonehelm and his council. They had him given their consent to share some elements of dwarven language and culture normally kept private with Legolas, and with whosoever else Gimli deemed would respect such knowledge and keep it close.

Of their group, Erestor already spoke and wrote excellent, if somewhat archaic, Khuzdul, the dwarven language. He’d grown up mostly in Eregion, which had maintained a very friendly relationship with the dwarves of Khazad-dum. Erestor’s closest childhood friend Celebrian had spent several years in Khazad-dum while her parents made plans to found Eregion. The dwarfling friends Celebrian had made in Khazad-dum often visited Eregion after they grew to adulthood. Additionally, Lady Galadriel had taught both her daughter and her daughter’s best friend to write the dwarven language so that they could help her with her correspondence.

“And so I know almost fifty different words for rock,” Erestor said, his quiet, understated sense of humor very much in play.

“Only fifty?” Legolas teased, “Why, Erestor. Even I know that there are at least two hundred and five.”

Gimli nodded wisely, as if that wasn’t complete nonsense. Then he insisted with a straight-face that only seventy-eight were still in common usage. In truth, as he explained later, it was closer to forty, although Erestor only knew half of them.

“Languages move on and change very quickly,” said Erestor, not at all put out by their bit of humor at his expense. In fact, he’d been no small amount amused. The more Gimli got to know Erestor, the better Gimli liked him. Erestor was a quiet, reserved fellow, but once one got past the reserve, there was a good sense of humor, a lot of patience, and a great deal of kindness. 

Theli had also known some Khuzdul even before the start of their voyage, but it had been primarily limited to healing terminology, black market haggling, and swear words.

“Some of the dwarves who fought at the War of the Last Alliance had only ever lived in Khazad-dum, and spoke no Westron,” Theli explained, “and since one of my jobs as an assistant healer was helping the Quartermaster obtain supplies, I had to learn a bit to trade with them.” Theli’s pronunciation of even the most basic terms had both Gimli and Erestor howling with laughter. Yes, Theli’s Khuzdul was intelligible, barely, but it was so badly garbled that it must have been highly entertaining to the dwarves he did business with. 

“That’s probably why you got such excellent bargains!,” Gimli said in between fits of mirth, “They were giving you a discount for the comedy show!”

“I did usually get very good deals out of our dwarven allies,” said Theli modestly, seeming torn between pride at his long-ago accomplishments and amusement at his own expense. 

They also spoke of the friends and family they were leaving behind, but only a little. Mostly they shared stories about the antics of their family members in the past, or little updates about the present, such as which of Haleth’s children and grandchildren had married, or what the children of Samwise, Pippin, and Merry and their offspring were up to now. They all knew that they would not see those friends or family again for a long time. In Legolas’ case, he would likely see his father and his Greenwood kin and Ithilien-en-Edhil retainers again, but it could be centuries until that day. But for all of them, many loved ones had been left behind in Middle Earth whom they would not see again until the End of the World.

More was said of the elven family and friends who were already known to be in the West. Erestor was a fount of information on that count. He had known Legolas’ paternal grandparents, Oropher and Felith, quite well, from Oropher’s time as one of King Ereinion Gil-galad’s councilors in Lindon. Erestor had also known Legolas’ father, Thranduil, as an elfling.

“He was a charming child, in his own way, your father,” Erestor told Legolas fondly, “whimsical and willful. Your grandfather Oropher was of a more reserved nature. He often seemed bewildered by his only living child, but there was no doubt that he loved Thranduil dearly. As I am sure that he will love you, as well, Legolas.”

Gimli’s elven brother smiled uncertainly. After a moment of quiet, Legolas asked, “When my Daeradar Oropher died at the Battle of Dagorlad, were you there, Erestor? I know that Theli was. But Theli was with the healers, and saw little of the battle itself.”

“The healers had their own battle,” said Erestor softly, “But yes, I was there. I was at Elrond’s side, that day and every other day I was hale enough to be beside him. It was a terrible day, Legolas. One of the most awful of that entire lamentable war.” 

“Ada never talks about it,” Legolas related quietly.

“I don’t blame him,” Erestor replied, “There were many tensions, you see, between Ereinion Gil-galad’s largely Noldorin army of Lindon, of which Imladris was included as a non-standard division, and the largely silvan armies of the Greenwood and Lothlorien, under the commands of your grandfather and your cousin King Amdir, respectively. The day before Dagorlad there had been a very contentious meeting, at which tempers flared and patience ran short. The meeting concluded before the signals for battle orders had been wholly agreed upon. Ereinion Gil-galad gave the signal to wait, and be at the ready. The heralds for Lothlorien and Greenwood saw it, and, believing it to be the order for attack, signaled that to your grandfather’s army and to Aran Amdir’s.”

Erestor sighed sadly after he spoke. The depth of sorrow in his dark eyes told Gimli that the Battle of Dagorlad must still feature in Erestor’s nightmares.

“It was a slaughter, Legolas,” Erestor continued after a long pause, “Your grandfather’s army and King Amdir’s charged straight into the teeth of an army of orcs. We of Imladris, sitting between Gil-galad’s army and where Amdir’s had once been, could do little to nothing to help them. If we’d charged in to support them, we’d have died, too. We had to wait until the orcs had been lured out to the pre-agreed upon position. Otherwise we would have wasted our strength, and possibly lost the war.” 

“Adar understood that, I think,” Legolas replied pensively, “Or at least I have never known him to speak badly of cousin Elrond, except of course,” a flicker of a smile passed over Legolas’ face, “for the matter of cousin Elrond having ‘let’ me go on the quest.”

Gimli had to chuckle at that, and comment, “As if anyone ever ‘let’ you do anything you were truly minded to do!”

“I’m told I was a biddable elfling,” Legolas replied, with an admirably straight face.

“Oh, that you were, tithen-Las,” agreed a grinning Theli, “Provided that you got your way, you were very biddable!”

Erestor also told them stories of his father, the famous diplomat Arandil of Eregion, and of his mother Elain, the healer.

“My mother was also my father’s accomplice in making the plans to smuggle the three rings out of Eregion,” Erestor revealed, continuing, “My parents would have stayed until the very end, remaining the public focus of Sauron’s enmity, save that one of Sauron’s many assassination attempts on my father nearly paid off.”

“I hadn’t heard that before, teacher-mine,” Mithiriel commented in surprise.

“Oh, ho, something our Lady Difficult hasn’t heard before!” Legolas jested, “Let’s write this down in the grand saga of our voyage. ‘The day that Mithiriel didn’t know something . . .’”

“Well, it wasn’t something that my Atar wanted to be common knowledge,” Erestor interjected, in Gimli’s opinion blessedly sparing them all another verbal sparring match between Legolas and Mithiriel, “But he’d been gradually dosed with a slow-acting poison which had been mixed in the cinnamon he took with his morning tea.”

“In his cinnamon?” Gimli asked, as Mithiriel commented, without any hint of sarcasm, “Only a monster would profane cinnamon in such a fashion.”

Gimli and Mithiriel exchanged a look of perfect understanding that only those who appreciate the high importance of spices can truly share in. 

Theli, who in his long and varied life had learned to eat just about anything, and Legolas, who would eat almost anything so long as it wasn’t flesh of bird or beast, exchanged their own long look, but it was more of a ‘look what I have to put up with’ one.

“Yes,” Erestor agreed, his eyes dancing, “Atar took a similar position on the merits of anyone who would willingly tamper with good cinnamon. But that aside, once Naneth realized that it had happened, she insisted that they leave for Lindon, and Lindon’s healers, immediately.”

“That sounds like good sense,” Gimli observed, “Why do I have the feeling that your father didn’t take it, eh, Erestor?”

“You’ve gotten a good sense of my father, then,” Erestor agreed, “For no, he wasn’t willing to leave Eregion. Not until all the plans were in place for the three rings to be smuggled out, and all of the secret exit routes planned for everyone who was willing to believe that Lord Annatar was in fact Sauron, the Deceiver.”

“And all the while, your father Lord Arandil was in a race with time against the poison slowly killing him,” admired Legolas, his laurel green eyes gleaming in interest. Gimli chuckled a little to himself. His elven brother never could resist a suspenseful story! 

“Yes, he was,” Erestor confirmed somberly, “And my Naneth was writing frantic missives to the healers in Lothlorien and Lindon, begging them to make ready, and asking if any of the antidote, a rare sea-blooming flower, could be sent from Eryn Vorn or Lindon to Eregion.”

“But weren’t most of the letters from Eregion being intercepted by agents loyal to Sauron?” asked Mithiriel.

“Yes, student-mine, they were,” Erestor agreed again, “And so Elrond had received no word of it, when my mother finally convinced my father to return to Lindon. We were not surprised to see them, however, for Aran Ereinion Gil-galad had already made it his standing order that my father return to Lindon at his earliest convenience. Ereinion Gil-galad believed that Eregion had grown too dangerous for my parents. As their King and their friend, he had stated in no uncertain terms that he was unwilling to further risk them on behalf of any elves of Eregion who were not wise enough to have already realized the truth about Sauron and made their own plans to leave.” 

“Now, did those messages also get waylaid,” Mithiriel asked mischievously, “or was your father Arandil just doing as he believed was his duty in Eregion, despite what his King had commanded him?”

“I suspect the latter,” said Erestor with a patient smile for his famous father’s antics, “But Atto finessed that point fairly well during his conferences with Ereinion Gil-Galad, and with Anatar Glorfindel, too. At least,” Erestor concluded with another smile, “So far as I heard.”

“Knowing Glorfindel,” Legolas remarked with a bright grin of his own, “I’m sure that he had plenty to say to the son he hadn’t seen in an age about getting poisoned and then waiting until it was nearly too late to seek an antidote!” 

“Oh, my grandfather Glorfindel and my father Arandil always had plenty to say to one another!” Erestor told them, laughing, “They spent the better part of two ages arguing about everything under the sun, including whether Atto would ever carry a sword again, yet all the while it was clear as the day is long that they were devoted to one another. I dearly look forward to meeting my father again, and telling him what my grandfather has been up to!”

Erestor spoke also of his sworn sister Celebrian, and also of his sworn brother Lord Elrond, but a different Elrond than the stern and somber ruling Lord of Imladris whom Gimli and Legolas had always known. The Elrond of Erestor’s stories ranged from the Elrond who was a brave but cautious and sometimes uncertain young healer and statesman in early Second Age Lindon, to the mature commander going to relieve beleaguered Eregion and then founding Imladris, and even to the loving but oft-times overwhelmed young husband and father, balancing parenting with ruling his settlement. Theli chimed in with occasional stories of Elrond-as-healer, who had been his mentor during the War of the Last Alliance and on and off throughout the Third Age.

“It will be very strange to meet Lord Elrond in person,” said Mithiriel pensively, “After having heard so much about him all my life.”

Theli chuckled, “Flash Fire, that reminds me. When your father Faramir would share a recollection of Elrond, or ask your grandmother Arwen a question about him, your father Faramir would always refer to him as ‘Hir Elrond,’ very formal. Your grandmother was very patient, ‘your Daeradar Elrond,’ Arwen would correct Faramir. Your grandfather Aragorn, on the other hand, was less patient.”

“Ha, he was indeed!” Gimli recalled with a hearty laugh of his own, “Our brother Aragorn would kick your father’s shin if Faramir was within his reach! Though gently, mind. Then he would give Faramir whatever count he had in his head, and when that count got to ten, your father Faramir would owe Aragorn an hour of his time, to do with whatever Aragorn pleased.”

“I can just hear Aragorn’s voice in my head,” Legolas recollected, his voice sad with the recentness of Aragorn’s passing, “‘And that’s ten, ion-nin,’ Aragorn would say, with that soft, affectionate, teasing light in his eyes, and then, ‘That means you, Faramir, coming to see me at noon on seventh day.’”

“They were so very fond of one another,” Mithiriel recalled wistfully, “My Ada Faramir and my Daerada Aragorn always seemed so in step, even when they were giving one another a difficult time. I think that’s part of why Ada always did that – always called Lord Elrond by his formal title – just so that he would be reminded, yet again, that Daernana Arwen and Daerada Aragorn considered him their son.”

“Which, of course, they did,” Erestor remarked in his quiet, kind way, “And so will Lord Elrond consider you his granddaughter, Mithiriel.”

Betraying an uncharacteristic moment of nervousness, Mithiriel lifted a hand to tuck a red-gold curl back into one of her braids. Then she looked off into the blue-green waves drawing them ever westward.

“Flashfire?” Theli prompted gently, at the same time Erestor said “Hendusailawen-nin?,” which meant ‘my wise-eyed girl’ in Quenya. It was a nickname that Erestor had given the teenaged Mithiriel when she had first visited Imladris to further her studies. 

Mithiriel summoned a tentative smile for them, but it was Legolas who explained her unusual timidity. 

“Mithiriel’s afraid that cousin Elrond will hold her grandmother Finduilas’ betrayal of our brother Aragorn against her,” the elven prince said quietly.

“What a foolish notion, Hendusailawen-nin,” Erestor scolded Mithiriel lightly, “I’m sure that it must have come as a shock to my brother Elrond when first he learned of it, as it did to your own grandfather Aragorn and grandmother Arwen. But Aragorn and Arwen were glad of their first-born son, no matter how it was that Faramir had come to be. And so Elrond will be glad of you.”

“I hope so,” replied Mithiriel, with a brave smile, “It’s not as if we can turn around and sail back to Middle Earth if he isn’t, after all.”

“Trust me, Mithiriel muin-nin,” Erestor reassured her, “I know Elrond better than almost anyone. And I know that he will be glad to welcome you,” warming to his topic, Erestor continued, “Both in legal terms and terms of the heart, you are Elrond’s great-granddaughter. Your grandmother Arwen and I were very careful when we drafted the terms of her and Aragorn’s adoption of your father. We used the same wording and ceremony used by elves after the War of Wrath and the War of the Last Alliance, when it was necessary for large numbers of them to adopt heirs after so many of their own sons had been lost in the wars. In such a fashion did I adopt Melpomaen, and there is none who would say that he is not my son in fact.”

“Of course not,” said Mithiriel, Theli and Legolas all quickly in chorus, for as even Gimli knew, no one would be foolish enough to say such a thing to Erestor, and certainly not more than once!

Mollified, Erestor smiled, then continued more contemplatively, “In fact, I’m not sure that you fully appreciate how very glad to see you that not only Elrond will be, but also likely his parents and grandparents. For though Elrond has sailed, and at least Andreth and possibly his twin sons will come to the West, they – Lord Earendil, Lady Elwing, Princess Idril, and Prince Tuor - have never even had the hope of seeing one of Elros’ descendants before the end of the world.”

“And yet, there she will be,” Legolas teased gently, “Lady Difficult, in the flesh. Long-daughter of Elros and Mithrellas, and adopted granddaughter of Aragorn and Arwen.”

“And every bit as stubborn and full of shine as any of them,” said Gimli, toasting Mithiriel with his flask of wine, for he was sure that this daughter of Faramir glimmered just as brightly as any of her famous kin. 

“Thank you, Gimli,” said Mithiriel with becoming modesty, before asking Erestor a question about the famous King Ereinion Gil-galad.

“Ereinion was not only a great elf, but also a very good elf,” Erestor recalled. “He was like a combination of an older brother and a very young father to Elrond, and he was always very kind to me. But, oh, poor Ereinion! Having come to power so very young, he was always so serious. It always seemed to me as if there was room for little else in his life save duty. I hope, if he’s been reborn, that he’s found a chance to do things that make him happy. And maybe had a chance to find someone to love without tripping over eligible females being constantly thrust at him by their power-seeking kin. Elrond said that there was a Lindarin elleth during the War of Wrath whom Ereinion had taken a liking to, and that that was the only time Elrond had ever seen him enamored with anyone. But Elrond explained that she was a commoner, and that even if Ereinion had decided to marry her, with only Cirdan, Galadriel, Celeborn, and the twins in his corner, it all came to nothing in the end because her father insisted that she sail back when the Lindar returned to the West at the end of the War of Wrath.” 

“Ereinion seemed very protective of Elrond, whenever I saw them interacting during the War of the Last Alliance,” Theli put in curiously.

“Oh, my, yes,” said Erestor, with a friendly laugh. “Ereinion took his role as older foster brother to Elrond quite seriously.” His expression growing mournful, Erestor added, “Though Elrond had become Ereinion’s viceroy in Imladris, he was also still Ereinion’s heir to his primarily Noldorin kingdom of Lindon. Ereinion meant for Elrond to become the King of the Noldor still in Middle Earth should he die. After Ereinion’s death at the end of the War of the Last Alliance, Elrond refused to honor that intention.”

“There weren’t that many Noldor left in Middle Earth after the War of the Last Alliance, were there?” Mithiriel asked, her question gentle in respect of Erestor’s sorrow.

“No,” Erestor confirmed, his noble features still strained with memories of that time of bereavement.

“And of the Noldor that were still around,” Theli added, “Many of them were planning to sail and were more interested in what Lord Cirdan had to say. Then some of them didn’t want Elrond to be their ruler because he was part-human, and others of them didn’t want him because he was part-Sindarin.” 

“That’s all true,” Erestor conceded, “Elrond did have enough support at that point that he could have forced the issue, but that was never Elrond’s way.”

“Ada said once that he thought that cousin Elrond made the right decision,” said Legolas, “and that Imladris was more than enough to be getting on with.”

“Your father,” said Erestor with wry fondness, “was, I think, jealous that Elrond had the option to say, ‘no, no thank you, I’ll just remain Lord of Imladris.’” 

 

“I can’t blame Thranduil for that,” Gimli remarked, “After having ruled just a settlement, and having watched Dain, Thorin, and Aragorn rule their kingdoms, I have to say, ‘tis no easy thing to be a King.”

“Though it is made easier by good council such as yours,” Mithiriel complimented Gimli, then, turning back to Erestor, asked, “And also by good council such as Erestor’s. I don’t know what we would have done without you in Imladris. And didn’t you serve as one of Ereinion Gil-galad’s councilors as well?” 

“I did,” Erestor confirmed, “He made me one of his advisors when I was, hmm, let’s see . . . just shy of 100 years of age.”

“The youngest ever elf made a lord of Lindon’s council in his own right,” Mithiriel recalled, seemingly aware that her modest mentor would not call attention to that fact.

“Well, yes,” said Erestor, blushing faintly, “With the exception of Elrond and Elros, who were perhaps thirty-five when Ereinion first appointed them to a place on his council, though they were his heirs, of course. And then there was Ereinion himself, who became King of the surviving elves of Nargothorond when he was just shy of fifty years of age. Lady Galadriel served as one of his regents, you know. And Ereinion, of his own volition, made her his heir until Elros and Elrond came of age. Over the strident objection of some of his own council lords who believed females unfit for leadership, or so I’ve heard.”

“Then I think that Ereinion Gil-Galad must have been an elf of exceptional taste and judgment, even when he was young, for having honored Lady Galadriel so,” Gimli concluded.

“Er, yes,” said Erestor, not disagreeing but seeming continuedly baffled at Gimli’s fervent support of all of those who had shown favor to his Lady. 

It was interesting learning more of these famous elves of the past, especially those who were related to his brother Legolas, but Gimli’s favorites out of all the stories that Erestor told were his remembrances of Galadriel.

“Lady Galadriel was Celebrian’s mother, and Celebrian was my best friend,” Erestor explained, “So I was in and out of the mansion they shared with Celebrimbor and Eregion’s government, and she was in and out of the house I shared with my parents, and with Lindon’s embassy to Eregion. My mother only worked one day a week so that I didn’t need to have a nanny, and Celebrian’s nanny often ended up watching over the both of us. When we got older we shared a tutor, Master Orlair, though both sets of our parents took it in turn to tutor us in certain subjects, as well.”

“What did the Lady Galadriel teach you?” Gimli wanted to know, “other than Khuzdul, in order to help her with her correspondence?”

“Such a variety of subjects, it’s difficult to think of a theme,” Erestor answered, a happily reminiscent smile on his face, “She was very busy with the business of running Eregion, so lessons with her were irregular, and something of a treat. She taught us about gravity and the other physical laws of Arda, and about chemistry, with a number of very interesting and at times explosive experiments.”

Legolas laughed, “So, when my father accused Lady Galadriel of being the one to pass on a love of mayhem and chaos to Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, it was not entirely a false accusation?”

“Not entirely,” agreed Erestor, with quiet good humor, “Although Lady Galadriel’s explosions were generally better contained than those of the Elrondion twins. And she always paid to have everything replaced or repaired. She taught us that, as well.”

“To clean up after your messes?” Legolas teased, “That is something I hear that Lord Glorfindel is still working on, with my cousins Elrohir and Elladan.”

“Well, yes, I suppose so, but more how to pay attention to matters of commerce, and invest our income wisely.”

Gimli leaned forward in interest, “This would be the original source of Arwen’s and her twin brothers’ vast financial resources?”

“In part,” Erestor confirmed, “Although they increased their own allotment many times over, by shrewd investments of their own. Particularly Elladan, rather to my surprise. I’d never expected him to show much of an interest in anything that wasn’t either biological or explosive.”

“From everything that I’ve ever heard of Lady Galadriel,” Mithiriel said softly, “I think that Uncle Elladan takes after her more often than he’s given credit for.”

“Perhaps he does,” agreed Erestor, “And I meant no slight to Elladan, Mithiriel-mine. He is a clever ellon with a good heart, and in those ways he is much like his grandmother. He is also like his grandmother in that he is not afraid to champion an unpopular cause. My own grandmother, Laureamoriel, whom I have never met, served your great-great-grandmother Galadriel in Tirion, long before the Noldor made their cold journey to Middle Earth.”

“That was back when Lady Galadriel first became a lady of investments and established her own household?” Mithiriel recalled.

“Yes, when she left her parents’ home, after her mother Princess Earwen objected to her hiring my grandmother Laureamoriel and her mother as new attendants,” Erestor explained, “Galadriel, who was called Artanis then, had done it to protect them from Laureamoriel’s abusive father, who was an officer in the household of Prince Feanor.”

“Of whom the less said the better,” said Legolas with an expression of distaste.

“And to whom Mithiriel and I are both related,” Erestor corrected gently, “Best to say the bald truth about him and leave it at that.”

“Being related to him doesn’t make you like him,” Gimli pointed out gruffly, thinking of a kinsman of his own with poor relations. Thinking of his lady’s bravery, Gimli continued, “And it was plain courageous of Lady Galadriel, still dependent upon her own parents, to have taken such a step.”

“Yes, it was,” Erestor agreed, “Her brothers helped her to make her initial investments in various enterprises, but soon enough she was making her own living and able to pay them back, with what I’m told was a generous rate of interest. After that she sponsored the education and training of many ellith, such as my grandmother. Lady Galadriel was . . . someone who wanted to see the complete potential of everyone and anyone fulfilled. To me, that is what makes her special. Not just her power, or her beauty.”

On that note, Gimli looked to the West. His heart leapt at the thought of seeing Lady Galadriel again. He’d pledged to be her champion, should she ever need one. She had given him a lock of her hair, even though she had refused that honor to the unworthy, such as Feanor. And Gimli would protect her, he vowed, from anyone who would treat her unfairly. And he knew that he could rely on Legolas to aid him in that endeavor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: A short story discussing Gimli being Galadriel’s champion during the march to the Black Gate can be found here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/1617647/chapters/3765497
> 
> And many stories of young Galadriel/Artanis can be found here in Tales from Before the Sun Rose (but make sure to read the tags and warnings:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/235157/chapters/360333


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote:
> 
> “Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.” ― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

Despite the many songs and stories they shared, there were a few topics which, by mutual and generally unspoken agreement, they did not speak of at all, at least as a group. The death of Erestor’s wife Taminixe and their still-born son was one of them, although Gimli suspected that Erestor had spoken to Mithiriel about that at least once. There had been one afternoon when they both disappeared into Erestor’s cabin and reappeared several hours later red-eyed. After that day, Erestor always wore a gold-and-garnet locket around his neck, one which Mithiriel told them contained a miniature painting of his wife. 

“She was – is – I’m not sure of the appropriate tense when dealing with elves when you’re not sure whether they’ve been reborn or not,” Mithiriel pondered, “but in any case, Glorfindel always said that she was beautiful, and the painting shows that. She’s got the typical Noldo coloring, dark hair and dark eyes, but her eyes look as if they burn with a friendly fire. Erestor anxiously hopes to see her again, but he is also worried that their still-born son will already have been reborn, and grown to adulthood without knowing his father.”

"I think that happened to Uncle Celeborn and Lady Galadriel," Legolas said compassionately, "Or at least I heard Uncle Celeborn say so once to Ada. Uncle Celeborn said that it was hard to pry anything about the West out of Lord Glorfindel or Mithrandir, but because Lady Galadriel knew the right questions to ask, they learned that the two sons Lady Galadriel miscarried had already been reborn in the West, and raised by Lady Galadriel's older brother Finrod Felagund and his wife." 

They also didn’t speak as a group about Legolas’ capture during the Second Mage War, Theli’s borderline abusive grandfather Elurin who had already traveled to Aman, the family Gimli lost at the Battle of Five Armies, or the torture of Mithiriel’s niece, Sarangerel, during one of the final battles of the Third (and last) Mage War.

With Legolas alone, Gimli spoke of even more. In fact, Gimli was truly surprised by how much he and Legolas had to say to one another, that hadn't already been said in all the many years they'd all spent together. To be fair, during most of those years Gimli had spent much of his time in Aglarond, or corresponding about Aglarond, and Legolas had been the same with Ithilien-en-Edhil. So, there had been distractions. Also, it seemed easier, on the Straight Road, to talk about those things which were too painful, or too close to the heart, to have spoken much about in the past.

Gimli told Legolas more stories of his cousins Fili and Kili, and of Lady Dis their mother and Thorin their uncle. He told Legolas of the little stories, the unimportant, slice of life moments, that he’d learned about his cousins living through on their way to Erebor from the Blue Mountains, like the silly song “Blunt the Knives” that his cousin Kili had made up to tease Frodo’s cousin Bilbo Baggins.

Legolas told Gimli more about his mother and his siblings, the two older brothers and the older sister he’d lost when he was only an elfling.

“I was twenty-one,” Legolas told him, “about the equivalent of a seven year old mortal child. My mother was on her way back to Emyn Duir from visiting a large town of Men which used to lie between the River Ford and the old Forest Road. It was an official visit from the Queen of the Greenwood, she’d been negotiating with them about contributing to the upkeep of the road since they’d begun charging tolls to travelers in order to journey on it. She took my twin siblings, Lithidhren my brother and Eryntheliel my sister, with her, so that they could gain practice in the art of diplomacy amongst Men. They were only about a hundred years old.”

“So, that would be past your elven age of formal apprenticeship, which was fifty,” said Gimli, who was trying to keep all of these different ages straight.

“Hmm, it’s called our age of majority,” Legolas corrected, “but it is the age at which many elves formally began their apprenticeships, yes.”

“But they’re not old enough to marry, or even full-grown, until they’re a hundred years old!” Gimli protested. Elven and Mannish age-related laws and customs had never made much sense to him. The customs of dwarves and hobbits were much more sensible, to Gimli’s mind. 

“To marry or to join the army you have to be one hundred,” Legolas explained, “or have your father’s permission to do so before you turn one hundred.”

“Which you did.”

“Which I did,” Legolas agreed, “I was his only surviving blood heir, and we were fighting a war against the orcs and spiders and other dark creatures of Sauron’s making. We had no time for childhood.”

“Sure and certain there have been many times that I wished my parents had given me their permission to join our King Thorin and his company on the Quest for Erebor,” Gimli confessed, “But had I done so, I most likely would have died with Kili and Fili.”

“Then I must confess that I am selfishly glad that Lady Kala and Lord Gloin said you nay,” Legolas replied solemnly, “For I would have lost the friendship of a brother beyond compare, and Middle Earth would have lost one of its greatest champions.”

Under most circumstances, Gimli would have told Legolas off for excessive flattery, or turned it into a jest. Much of their friendship had been, and was even now, about cloaking their true feelings in the guise of friendly insults. But on the way to the West, when it was just the two of them, there was no room for modesty or jesting, false or otherwise.

“As am I,” Gimli confessed, “And I cannot imagine the cousins who were like my elder brothers begrudging me my life, especially not when I have used it to accomplish things of great worth.” With an affectionate smile, Gimli added, “And yes, that does include befriending you, you vain creature.”

Well, there was room for a little teasing.

Legolas took it in good part, raising a regal eyebrow like an elf at the same time he snorted derisively like a dwarf. That made Gimli laugh, which attracted Theli’s attention, and it wasn’t until another day that they returned to that conversation.

“Your older siblings would have wanted you to live and find joy in life, too, brother-mine,” Gimli told Legolas firmly, when the expression that Gimli had learned to associate with ‘feeling-like-I’m-not-a-good-enough-son-or-brother’ crossed Legolas’ fair features.

“I’m sure that they would have,” Legolas agreed, “They were inordinately fond of me. The twins had just reached their hundredth year not long before I was born, and Thandrin was several centuries older than me, having been born at the beginning of the Watchful Peace. They all, even Thalion, doted on me. Eryntheliel dressed me up like a doll when I was little, and taught me how to train my puppies, kittens, hatchlings, and ponies when I was older. Thandrin played swords and hide-and-seek and other ‘little warrior’ games with me, and took me hunting. He was a soldier, another who received Ada’s permission to join the military before his hundredth birthday.”

“Not as young as forty-six, though,” Gimli guessed.

“No,” agreed Legolas, “Something like seventy-two, I think. I can’t even remember, anymore.”

“Well,” offered Gimli, “When we get there, I suppose that you may be able to ask him.”

Legolas laughed sadly, “That wouldn’t be the first thing I’d ask him.”

“Well, if he knows you anywhere near as well as I do,” warned Gimli, “and the first words out of your mouth are something along the lines of, “I tried my best but it wasn’t good enough,” then the first thing he’ll do is throw you back into the water, hoping that a bath may wash free some sense.” 

At that point Legolas squawked in outrage, and turned to walk away. Gimli was fairly sure it was part of a complicated plot to enact some kind of revenge for the slight, rather than genuine outrage. Legolas calling out to Mithiriel that Gimli was concerned about the state of the clothing he’d brought to wear in the West proved that fear to be true. Mithiriel loved to talk about fashion and the meanings behind different styles of clothing. It took Gimli a good two hours to get free of her and her needles and thread. Teasing Legolas could be a dangerous business, but that was part of what made it so much fun. There was little sport in making fun of someone who couldn’t defend himself, and that was almost never Legolas’ problem.

He was a remarkably sensitive soul, too. Gimli had realized that for the first time in Moria, when Legolas rested his hand on Gimli’s shoulder in comfort when they first learned the fate of Balin and the doomed expedition from Erebor to reclaim Moria. Gimli has seen it again in Legolas’ sorrow when he heard the songs the elves of Lothlorien sang for the death of Gandalf the Gray.

“It was my brother, Lithidhren, who taught me those songs,” Legolas confided to Gimli on another sunny afternoon. “He was a scholar. He’d trained to be an archivist, but around his fifty-sixth birthday he decided that he needed to learn to be a warrior, too. Lithidhren was dutiful, and he was Ada’s second heir after Thandrin. He thought that it was his duty to the Wood to learn the sodier’s trade at least well enough to serve in the Army for a yen.”

“What did your father say?” Gimli wondered aloud.

“That it was stupid,” Legolas said with a reminiscent smile, “That Lithidhren didn’t have to do anything that was unsuited to his nature. That Greenwood needed scholars as much as it needed warriors, and that if Lithidhren ever did become King, he’d have plenty of military officers to advise him.”

That seemed like uncommonly good sense, coming from Thranduil, but Gimli had the grace not to say so. Instead he asked, “But your middle brother persisted anyway? Well, it’s clear that he also had the family stubbornness.”

Legolas just rolled his eyes at that. “Lithidhren could be very stubborn. But he could also be very patient. He taught me to read when I was very young, because I was interested and he liked reading to me and singing to me.”

“Lady Dis taught me to read,” Gimli recalled, “My mother taught us mathematics and Lady Dis taught us literature and history. My father helped, too, when he had the time. But he was often away, trading. That was a large part of how we made our living, in the Blue Mountains. By traveling far and wide to sell the things we made beneath our mountains.”

“That must have been very difficult, Gimli,” Legolas sympathized, “My parents rarely took long trips, and when they did, they usually took us with them.” 

“Oh, aye, it was difficult at times,” Gimli recalled, “In Erebor, the trade had come to us. My parents never forgot that, or stopped lamenting it. Although my mother did so mostly silently. She always made the best of any circumstance she found herself in. I can rarely ever remember her not smiling.”

“I can’t, at all,” said Legolas, “Except at the memorials we attended for the death of King Dain.”

“She wasn’t smiling when she used her ceremonial axe to cleave a bandit’s head in two,” said Gimli, who had told Legolas that story before, “Or when the decision was made to leave the Blue Mountains after Mayor Seward, the leader of the human town nearest us, passed away.”

“He was the one who continued the good relationship his father Eyrik had begun with your people when they first arrived as refugees from Erebor, was he not?”

“He was,” Gimli confirmed, electing to leave out some of the dreadful reasons behind Mayor Eyrik’s and later Mayor Seward’s heartfelt support of the dwarves and instead simply explaining that, “And Mayor Seward had been the one to tell the townsfolk that the rumors of great piles of gold discovered in the Blue Mountains were just that; rumors. Which they were. But with Seward gone the Men didn’t believe it anymore. They demanded that we leave or they would force the question.”

“And with Thorin’s company in Erebor and most of the other adult male dwarves off trading, it was just you and a handful of other dwarven warriors left below the Blue Mountains,” Legolas recalled, from Gimli having told this story in earlier years, “Austri Virfirson was the oldest, and the most experienced, but you were the most closely related to King Thorin and King Dain.”

“Aye,” Gimli agreed, “And to further complicate the muddle, we had just received Dain’s royal order to stay where we were and wait for a large escort, to be led by my father, to bring us all to Erebor. Which only made sense after all, for we were mostly dwarven matrons and maidens, youths, and those a bit too old for proper warfare. And that last category included Austri Virfirson.”

“But King Dain didn’t know about the threat from the greedy Men in the town surrounding your home in the Blue Mountains.”

“Aye, he had no idea. We sent word, but the Men were shooting down our messenger birds. They demanded an answer within three days, far too short of a time to send a messenger on a pony.”

“Possibly even too short for a bird to get there and back again,” Legolas noted, and then asked “How could they have done something like that?”

“Envy, and hunger,” Gimli explained, “Their towns and villages were going through a hard time. Late springs and early winters had hurt their food stores. We were affected by the poor crops, too, for the Men understandably charged inflated prices for the foodstuffs we purchased from them. But we weren’t as limited when it came to our trading partners, nor had our underground crops suffered the same way the surface crops had. Thanks to the forward thinking of my mother, amongst others, we had enough food in storage to take us through a dozen years of bad winters. Not tasty food, true, but we wouldn’t have starved.”

“Didn’t your mother offer to sell some of your food stores to the Men?” Legolas asked, impressing Gimli yet again by remembering that detail from a story Gimli hadn’t told him since just after the end of the Ring War.

“Aye, she did. And they accepted. They had no coin and little food to trade for it, so my mother counseled Lady Dis, who counseled King Thorin, to accept instead that the Men concede to our possession of various mineral rights in the mines of the Blue Mountains.”

“But, wouldn’t that have included the gold?” Legolas asked.

“Oh, yes. But when Mayor Seward died, the Men claimed that all of our agreements died with him. Few of them were trained warriors, but they outnumbered us by hundreds if not thousands, counting all the outlying villages.”

“Greed and hunger can make monsters out of Men,” Legolas noted mournfully.

“Aye, and out of dwarves, or elves, or hobbits, too,” allowed Gimli, “But at the time, I wasn’t in a mind to give them the benefit of the doubt. Nor did I doubt their word that an attack was coming. Thanks in part to my friendship with Ralf, by then the town’s miller himself and one of the few Men to speak up for us, I had a better grasp on the numbers of the Men, and their intention to carry through on their threats.”

“And Austri Virfirson did not believe that they would besiege you in the Blue Mountains and take the gold they thought that you possessed by force,” Legolas recalled.

Gimli snorted in disgust, “Aye, he didn’t think they meant what they said, and even if they did, he thought that even we few warriors, the too young and the too old, would be able to hold the Blue Mountains against a rabble of Men.” Gimli shook his head, then confessed, “It was maddening. My mother was railing against him, but he didn’t care. He told her that she should keep herself to female concerns, and cease badgering him.”

Legolas’ eyes grew wide with disbelief, “He said that to Lady Kala? And you let him keep his head?”

“Aye,” replied Gimli, after a short bark of laughter, “But for one reason: because my mother told me that she would only support my bid to pull rank on Austri Virfirson if I kept my temper, no matter what he said or did to her. And it was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, even so.” Gimli revered his mother, and he’d never forgiven Austri Virfirson for his disrespectful words to Lady Kala.

After shaking his head to dispel the memory, Gimli continued, “Another of the old guard, a respected miner named Bruni Viggson, agreed with me that the best course of action was to offer the Men what they wanted in exchange for journey fare, and begin the trek to Erebor ourselves. We didn’t truly have enough dwarves who could carry a weapon to make such a journey safe, but we also didn’t have much to steal. And besides, we certainly didn’t have sufficient numbers to withhold a sustained siege of our Blue Mountains home. The gates there weren’t massive like Erebor’s gates. They were designed to keep out bandits, malcontents, and the occasional patrol of orcs or goblins. They weren’t made to keep out invading armies.”

“And that’s when you committed treason against King Dain’s orders,” Legolas recalled with a fond, proud smile, “In order to lead the remaining Blue Mountains dwarves to Erebor.”

“Aye, that was when,” Gimli agreed, “And I’m not sure if we ever would have been able to leave, but that Dis spoke for me, as well. The warriors were nearly clean split between supporting Bruni and me, who argued for us to leave, and Austri Virfirson, who wanted to stay until relief arrived from King Dain.”

“Would King Dain even have known to send sufficient numbers to relieve a siege?” Legolas asked.

“I honestly do not know,” Gimli answered, “And don’t think that wasn’t affecting my thinking. Mine, and my mother’s, and even Aunt Dis’, once the situation was explained to her. She’d been so deep in mourning for her sons and brother that she was barely aware of what was going on. When my slamming an axe into the wall of my mother’s kitchen in frustration finally caught her attention, she asked why we didn’t just ask Mayor Seward to speak some sense to the other Men. Once she found out that Seward was dead, she calmly asked me to explain the problem. Then she accompanied me to the next meeting of all the warriors, and she told them that I had her support. That clinched it, for not even Austri Virfirson would speak out against the daughter and sister of Kings, and the mother of two princes who died as heroes.”

“They truly did,” Legolas said softly, “I know I’ve told you this before, but it was that impossible charge led by King Thorin and your cousins that gave us the time we needed to regroup our cavalry and short-distance archers.”

Gimli let out a faint, pained laugh. “Aye, so you’ve said. And your cousin Baeraeriel, too.”

“Of course you would take her word above mine,” Legolas teased back.

“Of course,” Gimli replied mock-seriously, “She’s far prettier than you.”

Legolas laughed sadly, his mind still faraway on that battlefield, and evidently in Laketown the night before, “Bloody Baeraeriel,” the elven prince recalled, “my tiny, beautiful, deadly cousin. She hadn’t wanted to prepare supplies behind my father’s back, or go to Laketown with us, that night. She held the command, but it was Laketown. Lord Girion’s descendants were there, and he had saved many lives the day that Smaug came to Erebor. And his ancestors had fought beside us, when we were all part of the mixed human and elven patrol commanded by Theli.”

“Before he was demoted,” Gimli noted.

Legolas’ lips twitched into a real smile for a moment, “Aye, before he was demoted for the fifth and final time. What Theli was demoted for, was agreeing to follow me when I decided to go after a band of outlaws who had burned down human and elven villages, killing all the men and ellyn and taking the women and ellith and children and elflings hostage.”

“That does sound like you,” Gimli agreed, “But it also sounds like it would have been what a joint human and elven patrol was supposed to be doing, Erynion Lightning-Bow.”

Legolas winced at his old nickname from those long-ago days, and then explained, “Yes, well, the bandits had already gone beyond the forest and the lands held by the Dale King. In fact, based on how old the remains and tracks we found were, they were well on their way to the River Carnen.”

Gimli frowned. “That’s nearly into Longbeard territory. The Iron Hills dwarves would not have stood still for slavery.”

Legolas smiled sardonically, the expression rather foreign to his usually sunny disposition, “In the past, similar slavers had traveled just south of the Longbeards territory, and just north of the lands claimed by the Northmen. Not Illinare’s Northmen of this age, but the Northmen of the lands between the Iron Hills and the Celduin in the Third Age, who held that land against the Rhunnim until after the arrival of Smaug.”

“Weren’t those Northmen allies of Erebor, Dale, the Longbeards, and the Greenwood?” Gimli asked.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, ”and the Northmen, too, disapproved of slavery, but we suspected that some of them had been paid off to look the other way, for none of the messages we sent to warn them of slavers coming through their territory ever resulted in any successful captures.”

“Ah. So, it should have been out of your hands and handled via messenger bird and diplomatic correspondence.”

Legolas nodded, “Technically, we were trespassing, too. First in Longbeard territory, and then into Northmen land. But, given that the Northmen had failed twice to capture the foul sons-of-orcs, I felt that we had the best chance of catching up to them. What I should have done, was pulled rank as Crown Prince and taken command to take us off in pursuit. That would have protected all the soldiers from any official retribution from my father or their general, since they would have just been following my orders.”

“But you were too young to think of that.”

“Or at the very least, I didn’t think of it,” Legolas agreed, “I didn’t think of it in Laketown, either, and that was several centuries later. I just told Baeraeriel that I was going to Laketown after the orcs, even though we’d been told to let them be since they were only intent on killing. . .” Legolas trailed off with a wince.

“Aye, since the orcs were just after my Da and my kin. I know, Legolas,” Gimli interjected calmly, “We’ve spoken of this before.”

“But that was a long time ago,” Legolas said softly, “Before I knew your father, or your mother and sister and Lady Dis. When all the reason I had to argue for Mithrandir’s position that we needed to help your kin get rid of the dragon Smaug was a warrior’s logic that you don’t leave a threat to your back when the counsel of the Wise is that you’re already going to be facing one to your front. And when my father said to leave it be, I mostly left it be, save for having patrol schedules rearranged and supplies made ready in case Laketown was attacked. And if it hadn’t been for the orcs going through Laketown on their way to get to your kin, I don’t know as I would have chased them.”

“I know, Legolas. And I don’t blame you for it,” Gimli reassured him. Gimli knew well that Legolas had come to love his parents, and they him. When Gloin had died, Legolas had supported Gimli’s mother while Gimli and his sister Alys held the flints to alight and set the seal around their father’s tomb. When Kala finally passed away, barely a year before Aragorn’s death, Gimli’s sister Alys had been needed to help her pregnant daughter-by-law. It had been Legolas who had helped Gimli to light the fire to seal his mother’s tomb and speed his Lady Kala’s way to the Mountains.

“You may have gone to protect the Men of Laketown and not my kin,” Gimli told Legolas staunchly, “But once you were in Laketown, you fought the orcs who were attacking my cousins and my Uncle Oin. You, and Baeraeriel and Theli and Cellillien. And they only went to Laketown because you refused not to go, and because Baeraeriel owed you for having deserted you the last time you committed treason.”

Legolas winced again, “Technically, it wasn’t ‘treason.’ My father hadn’t specifically said not to follow bandit slavers into lands that weren’t ours where we had no hope of support or succor.”

“And what would it have been called if you weren’t the King’s son?” Gimli asked shrewdly.

At that, Legolas laughed. “The End of My Career as a Soldier, probably,” he answered ruefully, “Which it wasn’t, fortunately. And yes, Baeraeriel thought that she owed me, for having led the group that turned back to the Greenwood when Theli told our joint elven and human patrol that the mission was volunteer only.”

“I’m sorry that the bandits killed all of your captive elves, and the women and children, when they saw you coming,” Gimli said softly, “If it helps, that swift death may have been kinder than the fates which awaited them as slaves. At least from what I know of slavery.”

Legolas raised a graceful hand in the elven gesture for ‘maybe.’

“And you certainly made sure that those slavers would never kill or capture anyone ever again,” Gimli pointed out.

“We did at least do that,” Legolas agreed, “And we managed to gather enough information that the Northmen lords were able to clean their house. But I still don’t know if it was worth risking all of our lives over.”

“You can’t know how something will turn out when you begin it, Legolas,” said Gimli softly, “You made the best decision you could. And you did it again in Laketown. Because of you, Theli was there in Laketown to help my Uncle Oin heal my cousin Kili after he was poisoned by that orc arrow.”

“Your uncle knew everything he needed to know except the Dalemen word for the healing herbs he needed,” Legolas disagreed, “But Theli was able to provide that, and our dried stores of it. But it was . . . um, I don’t remember his name, one of the dwarves, who found the fresh athelas. It was probably that which saved your cousin’s life.”

“After the Ring War,” said Gimli wryly, “I believe that you and Baeraeriel called him ‘the dwarf with the funny hat.’” He let Legolas squirm for a moment before he supplied, “Bofur. His name was Bofur. He and his brothers were descended from dwarves who came to Eregion from Khazad-dum.”

“Ah,” said Legolas sadly, “Then he died with your cousin Balin in Moria. I am so sorry, Gimli.”

“It was long ago,” said Gimli simply, “And you fought the orcs in Laketown that night beside Bofur, too. As your beautiful, deadly cousin says, elves don’t need an excuse to slay orcs. But I’m glad that you lot were there that night.”

“I know I’ve told you before,” said Legolas, “But now that you’ve spoken so much more of them, I want to tell you again – your cousins Kili and Fili were not just heroes, they were very likable. Even Baeraeriel liked them, and Baeraeriel doesn’t like much of anybody.”

Gimli sniffed, “Well, she liked me! She liked me so much that she let me wear her orc-teeth beads in my hair.”

“It was a very becoming look on you,” Legolas agreed, the memory bringing a smile to his face, “And entirely worth the hangover we suffered the next morning to have seen the expression on my father’s face when he walked into that party.”

“Your Baeraeriel and Cellililen gave my Aunt Dis a gift,” Gimli said, “She passed it down to my sister Alys, who gave it to my niece, Disla. Did we ever tell you of that?”

Legolas tilted his head in thought, “I don’t believe so. I remember that Baeraeriel said that I owed her money for something having to do with Laketown around that time, but I just wrote my father’s treasurer and told him to give Baeraeriel whatever she wanted.”

“Oh,” said Gimli, slightly disappointed, “Well, it was a miniature portrait of my cousins. Of Fili and Kili, laughing. It looked . . . well, it looked like an elf had tried to paint a dwarf and done a mediocre job. But it was clearly them, clearly their smiles, though Kili was pale as milk.”

“Ah,” said Legolas, “Well, if I’d have known what I was paying for, I would have approved. The sketch was probably done by Cellillien. She has some talent at drawing. If it was your cousins laughing, it was probably while Kili and Theli were telling stories to the children of Bard the Bowman. Your cousin Kili was pale then, because he was still recovering from the poison arrow. He was tough, though, truly a being of extraordinary resilience. We spent all of that next morning pulling people out of the freezing water. He wasn’t yet fully healed, but he was right there in the middle, helping. I think that your cousin Fili was furious with him, but Kili refused to rest while there were still live bodies in the water.”

“Aye,” said Gimli, blinking away tears, “That was Kili.”

“I think that was what impressed Baeraeriel the most,” said Legolas, placing a gentle hand over Gimli’s as they leaned on the ship’s rail, “she is a very strong swimmer, and your cousin wasn’t. But he wasn’t afraid to flail his way into the lake well over his head, in order to help pull boat after boat of Lakemen to safety.” 

“Aye,” said Gimli again, still lost in grief, “None of us were good swimmers. Though Ralf, the miller’s boy, had worked with Kili and I until we were at least good enough not to drown in the mill pond.”

“Your cousins would have been grateful that you were there to look after their mother,” said Legolas gently, “I saw how Lady Dis viewed you as another son, when she came to live in Aglarond after Thorin grew into his kingship.”

Gimli nodded, wiping tears from his cheeks, “Aye, we held onto one another, Aunt Dis and I. She asked me to help her set light to the sealing of the tombs of Thorin, Fili and Kili.” Gimli paused, and then added, “You may have already heard this, if you understood the old Khuzdul spoken at their memorials well enough. But we dwarves, we think of ourselves as stone given life. When our lives end, we turn back into stone within our coffins and stone tombs. That gives us a second life, as part of the mountains we lived in and loved. Those dwarven bodies within Erebor helped to weaken Smaug, we believe. The many generations of stone sentinels helped keep what was left of Erebor safe, so that there was something left for Thorin and company to go back and reclaim.”

“And that is what you are giving up, by sailing with me,” said Legolas sadly.

“Legolas, if you’re going to go on like this again,” Gimli threatened, “I really will throw you overboard. I’m going because you and Lady Galadriel and the Valar all invited me, and I accepted.”

Legolas tilted his head inquisitively, “Lady Galadriel invited you? I had thought that the Vala Aule had sent you dreams.”

“Aye, Mahal did,” Gimli agreed, “But it was even earlier that Lady Galadriel told me that the Valar would grant me leave to sail if I wished, and gave me the potion that allowed me to stay young while I waited for you to be ready to sail.”

“You never told me that.”

“Well, hush then, and I will.” 

Gimli made Legolas wait while he got out a pipe and lit it. The rings of smoke floated up into the purple and blue of a late sunset as he began his story.

On a spring-sweet evening not long before the Lady Galadriel and her fellow ringbearers left Middle Earth, the ethereal White Lady came to Gimli son of Gloin and invited him to walk in the garden of the King’s House with her. She waited until they were close by the replanted White Tree, then she handed him a crystal vial with perhaps a tablespoon’s worth of silvery liquid within it.

"I have seen that you might accompany Legolas, should you choose, to Aman,” she told him kindly in her celestial voice, “None other of your kind has been permitted to do so; I doubt any other ever shall be. If you accept, all you need do is quaff this drink, and you will share my young cousin's natural lifespan. If you decide to decline, pour the contents of this vial into any running water under starlight, and it shall safely dissipate.”

Giving Gimli a compassionate smile, Galadriel added a warning, “Do not leave the choice too long, my Champion. Legolas may bide in Middle Earth for many years yet, and nothing short of sailing can cure old age.”

For some months, Gimli kept the crystal vial on a gold chain which he wore around his neck, close to his heart. As he did so, he traveled with Legolas, worked on establishing Aglarond, and joined Legolas and Aragorn in rebuilding Minas Tirith and founding Emyn Arnen and Ithilien-en-Edhil. Through those months, the possibility of living a very long life and then sailing to the West with Legolas likewise grew close to his heart.

It wasn’t only the idea of staying with Legolas that Gimli liked more and more. It was also the possibility of being able to travel and to learn as much as he wanted to learn, with no time limits on the crafts and skills he could master. But it was mostly the thought of being able to do all of that with Legolas at his side.

Since Kili and Fili died, some part of Gimli had always been alone. Oh, he had made new friends, and good ones. But there had been no one to share every joke with, no one who wanted to know the all of him, to stand by him in dark times and celebrate with him in glad times. 

Then there was the Fellowship, and that changed. But after the War ended, the Fellowship scattered. The hobbits had their homes to return to, save Frodo, who sailed. Aragorn had Arwen and Faramir and two kingdoms to rebuild. But Legolas . . . Legolas stayed with Gimli, save when their separate responsibilities tugged them in different directions. And even then, they corresponded frequently, planning their next journey and discussing the developments in the lands they ruled.

When Gimli was with Legolas, he never felt alone. The two shared a sense of adventure, of exploration, of wonder. Nor did Gimli ever tire of the elf’s company for more than the occasional few hours. Not that their friendship was always easy – nothing worthwhile ever is. But even when they disagreed, the getting to know one another better was always worth the fight.

Like Gimli, Legolas had spent most of his life alone. He had been one of the very youngest elves born in Middle Earth, at least until the elflings born after the Ring War. As Gimli was called Elvellon, the friend of elves, Legolas should be called the friend of mortals. He had been a friend to humans and later to dwarves as well, for generation after generation, all of whom would leave him in time. For love of his short-lived friends, Legolas had become their confidant and companion, and had accepted the price of drinking deeply from the well of sorrows each time they withered and died, as they inevitably must. 

During the late spring of the year after the Ring War, Gimli and Legolas journeyed to Faramir and Eowyn’s new home of Emyn Arnen in Ithilien, to see a star-shower. The night that the singing stars fell to the earth, Gimli asked Legolas, when the elf was as drunk and as relaxed as he'd ever seen him, if Legolas would like for Gimli Gloinson to accompany him, through the long years of his never-ending elven life, over the far seas to Tol Eressea.

Legolas had said yes. Gimli wasn't sure that his inebriated friend had understood at the time that Gimli’s joining him on the journey to the West was a real possibility, but he did know that the “yes” had been sincerely meant. Gimli didn't require Legolas' understanding, he wasn't sure he understood himself. All he had needed was to know that Legolas's wish was to keep developing their friendship over many centuries, if they both survived. And so then he knew.

And from that moment, Gimli had decided that he wanted to sail with his elven brother. But Gimli had other responsibilities, beside Legolas. Responsibilities to Aglarond, to his parents and his second-mother Lady Dis, and to his adopted sister Alys and her husband, his cousin Balder. In time, those concerns became less and less pressing. Balder grew into a capable, even-handed second-in-command for Aglarond. Alys bore a healthy son, young Sindri, and then later a daughter, Disla, who together healed her broken heart after her first child had died while still inside her womb during the siege of Erebor.

Young Sindri grew to be just and strong, well-beloved of the dwarves of Aglarond, and of their high-king Thorin III Stonehelm and his heirs in Erebor. Sindri’s sister Disla was kind-hearted and hardworking, and her honorary grandmother the Lady Dis made sure that her namesake Disla was given the opportunity to follow her calling. Gimli’s nephew Sindri married Mora, a granddaughter of Thorin III Stonehelm. Just after the end of the Second Mage War, during which his nephew had served with other dwarves of Aglarond under Gimli’s and then Balder’s command, Sindri received word that Mora had borne him a healthy son. They named Gimli’s great-nephew Lasri, in honor of both his father and of Legolas, who had been captured holding the left flank of battle long enough for the dwarves to set up their catapults.

The spring following the end of the Second Mage War, there was another star shower in Ithilien. By then, Gimli had a capable, adult heir with a healthy son of his own. Legolas was drunk again, and still wounded, physically and mentally, from his capture and his time as a hostage of the Blood Mages. Legolas was still furious at himself for having needed to be rescued in the first place. It was a foolish reason to think himself worthless, but such things, Gimli had learned, did not always follow rational logic.

That night, as the singing stars fell to the earth, Gimli left Legolas in Faramir and Mithiriel’s capable charge, and went for a walk. He was still in his dwarven prime, but the time had come to make his decision. Already, Gimli sometimes felt a slight ache in his joints at approaching rain or snow, or experienced a quick, passing pain in his bones on rising in the morn after a day of fighting. So when he came upon a forest glade where a clear, cheerful riverlet flowed underground into a singing cave on its way to the Anduin, Gimli raised Lady Galadriel’s crystal vial in a toast to the Lady and the stars, and then drank.

The years rolled by thereafter, and true to Galadriel's promise, Gimili did not age further. The dwarves of Aglarond and Erebor did not seem to think that odd. Gimli was already unique among them, for his service during the quest and the intensity of his friendship with Legolas and Aragorn and their kin, so what was one more odd thing? Legolas and Aragorn seemed only thankful for Gimli’s continuing good health. Only Faramir seemed to sense Galadriel's fine hand, the hand of something extraordinary, at work. And elven-wise Faramir, natural son of one of Galadriel's students, adopted son of another, had the sense not to say anything. So it was, when Aragorn at last began to show his age, and retired to his son's estate at Emyn Arnen to spend his last few years reminiscing with his companions and family, that Legolas came to ask at last why Gimli had not aged. Facing the loss of Aragorn, knowing he did not need to face Gimli's loss as well was a gift unlooked for, and welcomed with a joy beyond words by the elven Prince.

Gimli, too, was pleased with his decision. As the time to sail grew closer, he had begun to have dreams in which Mahal himself bid Gimli safe journeying, and promised to welcome him upon Gimli’s arrival in Aman. Although there were times when he mourned his kin and friends and caverns left behind on Middle Earth, Gimli was by-and-large not merely content, but even excited for the future they sailed towards.

When Gimli had finished his tale of how he was given the choice to sail, and how he made it, while of course telling Legolas only what he felt it was good for Legolas to know, the elf smiled in relief.

“So it’s true, then? That you are truly happy to be here?”

“Legolas, I didn’t say so just to hear myself talk,” Gimli reproved patiently, “you’re more than a friend to me, you’re the brother I chose for myself. We’ve seen one another at our best and at our worst, and yet we still not only love one another as brothers, but enjoy one another’s company as well. I’ve spent more time with you than I’ve ever spent with anyone, and we’ve still never run out of things to say to one another. I wasn’t ready to die, and I am ready to spend more time with you. Mahal says that there are mountains in the West to sing to, and that I can bring you along with me. The changes we are sailing towards likely won’t all be easy, but when has life ever been only smooth sailing for adventurers such as ourselves? We’ll figure it out, you and I, and enjoy the journeying along the way.” 

“Well, that’s fine enough then,” said Legolas. They watched the sun finish setting and the new stars come out, still gazing out to the West, side by side.

Perhaps they should have had that conversation earlier. In any case, it was somehow no surprise to Gimli when it was the following morning that they saw white sails headed towards them from Aman.


End file.
